Reunited
by Marydri
Summary: Elements from both the books and the TV-Series. After his resurrection Jon sneaks into Winterfell to save Sansa from the Boltons. They had never been close, and now they struggle to find some semblance of family in each other. What they will find will be so much more.
1. Chapter 1

**SANSA**

I jolted awake with a start from my dream, still within the clutches of terror. I felt like I couldn't breathe and the only sound in the room was the furious pounding of my heart. It was so loud I thought it would come out of my chest. I opened my eyes and scanned my bedchamber in what little moonlight made it through the windows. As the minutes passed, the panic subsided. I could breathe again but I could hear nothing, complete silence.

 _Thank the gods_.

I thought as I realized Ramsay has not come again for more tonight. Everything hurt so badly and I was freezing, but that was the norm now. It became the norm four moons ago, on the accursed night of my wedding.

I tried to shift my body in an attempt to get comfortable, but I couldn't. My wrists and ankles were still tied tightly to the bedpost with thick ropes, prohibiting all movement. The only thing I had managed to do by thrashing around was to chaff my skin raw and bloody where the binds were.

There was a soft creak from the window to my right and suddenly a gust of wind licked my naked skin, cold as the breath of an ice dragon. I clenched my teeth as a shiver raked my spine, damning Ramsay to the deepest part of the seven hells for unlatching the window again before leaving to let me freeze.

He believed it to be a fitting way to torment me. He was smiling that first time, when he told it was rumored in the North that the Starks had ice in their veins instead of blood, like the Kings of Winter who ruled centuries ago.

 _"Let's find out, shall we?"_

He said enthusiastically. He was still smiling when he cut my skin open and let my blood flow abundantly, as red and warm as any other person's. And when he was done for the night, he opened the window and told me that, since I was a Stark, the winds of winter would surely rejuvenate me, snickering all the while like a child pulling a prank.

 _I used to love the cold. I used to draw strength from it. And now he has twisted it into a weakness._

I thought listlessly.

During the first moon of my wedding I would cry myself to sleep every night and pray for someone to come rescue me all day, but slowly the tears stopped my faith to any sort of gods disappeared. I used to whisper to myself all day:

 _"I am strong. I am a wolf, the Lady of Winterfell and the daughter of Eddard Stark."_

To remind myself who I was, despising what Theon had become, but as the days merged in a torrent of blood and pain, it got harder to be a wolf and show defiance, as Ramsay broke me more every passing night. Every time I closed my eyes I could see his cruel pale ones watching me… and then came a day when I could finally understand how Theon became like that. He became Reek to stop the pain and that was what Ramsay would have of me as well. I hadn't succumbed yet, but how much longer would I be able to hold on?

Tonight he had been especially brutal. He loved to hear the screams and the begging. I knew that, yet I had foolishly tried to deprive him of them. I should have learned by now. Every time I displeased him, he found some new way to cause me pain and humiliation and tonight was no different. I could still feel it inside… what he did. It was unnatural and wrong in ways I could not even contemplate, yet it seemed to bring him immense pleasure. To me, it only brought more suffering, more degradation.

 _Have I not had enough of both already?_

I wondered, pondering on the reason I had to live through all this, keeping myself awake in the process. Sleep was no longer a way out of the terror, as it had been in Kings Landing. Now Ramsay followed me in every single dream I had, taunting me, hurting me, violating my body again and again.

 _Let death come for me tonight._

I wished with all of my being.

 _I can't take it any longer, please just let me die and be done with it._

That was the only thing I was thinking for the past two moons, after the last traces of hope completely disappeared from my mind.

My thoughts of death were interrupted by the door to my bedchamber opening slowly. Fear twisted my insides, knowing it could only be _him_. I immediately closed my eyes and let my body go slack, pretending to be asleep, even though that wouldn't deter him. I heard the door close shut and then came a gasp, followed by the sound of something dully hitting the floor.

 _What's going on? Why is he not taunting me already? What is he going to do to me now?_

I wondered in utter panic, nearly opening my eyes to see what was going on. That was new and anything new made my blood run cold. Anything new meant more pain. After a minute I could hear his footsteps coming close and a knife being drawn from its sheath.

 _That is familiar at least_.

I reassured myself and prepared fully for the familiar steel kiss of the blade. Suddenly my right hand was free and it fell lifelessly on the mattress. He was cutting me loose and that was not a good sign.

 _He wants to play one of his twisted little games._

I realized, as the rest of my binds were being cut. I tried my damndest not to flinch from the pain as blood returned to my extremities. When he was done cutting them away he came to stand beside me, right next to my head. Suddenly I felt something warm land on my cheek, which then ran down to the mattress. It felt so hot on my freezing skin, it almost burned me. More drops fell on my neck and face and suddenly I heard a sniffle and an anguished whimper escape the person above me, as his trembling hand started to caress my hair.

 _His touch is so tender and he is crying. It can't be Ramsay._

I was sure of it, so I opened my eyes to the face of …

"Jon"

I whispered in shock, my voice hoarse from all the screaming and disuse, and my brother's gaze locked with mine. I realized my palm was cupping his bearded cheek, wet from the tears but warm as a furnace under my icy fingers.

 _His eyes are so sad… And he looks older, with his short beard and those scars near his eye… It's not only that, he looks… broken._

I realized as he took me in his arms, lifting me slightly off the bed. He did it with the outmost care, like I was made of glass and he could break me with the slightest wrong move.

 _He obviously doesn't know Ramsay already broke everything on the inside as well as on the outside._

I thought to myself with chagrin.

"Sansa! Oh gods Sansa, what has he done to you?"

Jon asked in a whisper, his voice breaking at the end.

 _It's a dream! No it's a trap! The same one Theon warned me about! He wants me to try to escape, so he can hunt me down in the woods with the hounds and then… and then he'll…_

My thought trailed off at the end, unwilling to name the atrocities Ramsay had planned for me, even in my own mind. I burrowed my face in the crook of his neck and let myself enjoy his embrace for as long as I could, savoring his scent. He smelt of smoke, leather, pine and wolf. He smelt of home.

Jon and I hardly ever touched before, when we were still children in Winterfell. We spoke only when it was strictly necessary and all our interactions were based on propriety. Now though, his embrace felt so familiar, so warm and inviting, I wanted to stay there forever. For the first time in years I felt safe and protected and I tried my damndest to remember that nobody could protect me, nobody could save me. There was no escape but death.

"Jon"

I repeated his name softly, almost like a prayer, wishing with all my heart and soul that he was real.

 _Maybe I've gone mad after everything Ramsay has done to me and I see things that aren't there. Maybe I'm still dreaming. There is no other explanation._

"Sansa, sweetheart, I'm here now. I'm here and I will take you somewhere safe, where he will never touch you again."

Jon whispered at me tenderly, as he caressed my tangled hair. I wanted so much to believe him, but I knew better.

"No Jon, it's a trap! It's one of his favorite games… He wants me to believe I found a way out, that I have escaped, and then he will come for me, he'll hunt me down in the woods with the hounds and he'll… he'll…"

I warned him, holding his cloak tight in my trembling fists and looking him straight in the eye with wide, frightened eyes, trying to make him understand. My breathing was labored and my hands had grown clammy.

 _I'm sure I must look completely deranged to him._

And then I saw… Jon was wearing Bolton armor, with the flayed man displayed right at the center of his chest.

I let go of his cloak like it had burned me. My hands were trembling and my mind was numb. I wanted to scream, and cry and curse him. I wanted to die most of all.

"Sansa listen to me!"

Jon said in a commanding voice, as he took my icy hands inside his warm, callused ones, trapping them there.

"It is not a trap. I'm really here to rescue you. Nobody let me in through the side door. Nobody knows I'm here but you. I came here by my own and I only managed to make it because I know every nook and cranny of Winterfell. If it is a trap, then whoever thought of it, he sure made it an impossible one. I'm here to save you."

Jon assured me, his eyes pleading me to believe him, as he tightened his hold on my hands.

His very heartfelt speech meant nothing. It was all a lie, a game that monster played for sport and now he had dragged Jon into it somehow.

 _I will not give him the satisfaction. There is still some fight in me. I am a Stark. I am a wolf and I will not let him hunt me in the Wolfswood, as I run for my life. Wolves are the hunters, not the game._

I thought, drawing strength from a place deep inside me I had no idea still existed. I hardened my gaze, steeled my voice and held my head high; looking at him straight in the eye with as much disdain I could muster.

"No you're not. Ramsay sent you. He even has you wearing his sigil. Tell my husband I do not wish to leave. Tell him to play his sport with one of his other whores. I am the Stark of Winterfell and his wife. Now leave me."

I told him venomously, tearing my hands out of his grasp.

 _He is the only family I have left, and he chose to do the monster's errands… Now I know I am all alone._

Jon looked flabbergasted. Maybe his surprise came from my accusation, maybe from the sudden change in my tone, from vulnerable to hard as steel, but then understanding filled his eyes.

"No Sansa! I stole the armor from the armory as part of the plan. I would never have been able to make it all the way here in my normal clothes. I killed a dozen guards for you! I will kill a thousand more if you ask me to."

Jon replied with fervor, his voice ringing with sincerity, but meeting a thick wall of distrust from my part.

"I swear upon father's bones that I will save you from that monster sister."

He swore vehemently, his face hard, like the stone faces of the Kings of Winter in the Crypts.

 _He is telling the truth. He wouldn't have sworn upon father's bones had he been lying._

I realized with a start.

And then his face softened. He looked like the boy I remembered. The boy who always strived to be acknowledged by me as a brother and not a bastard. His eyes were vulnerable, begging me to believe in him, to give him a chance.

"Please, please come with me."

Jon whispered softly, closing his eyes, as if he was in prayer. He sounded defeated. He looked completely broken.

My mind was reeling, trying to make a decision. Time was of the essence though, and I had to choose fast.

 _I can stay here and suffer until the rest of my days, or I can try to escape with Jon. Even if our escape fails, even if it really is just one of Ramsay's cruel games, at least I will be able to find a way to die before getting back at the hands of the monster._

I felt my resolve weaken. I was the Stark of Winterfell, but the price I had to pay for it was too much.

 _"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell"_

Father told me, his solemn voice resonating in my mind like a bell.

 _Winterfell though is no more. The Winterfell of my childhood has gone to ashes. There is nothing here for me but pain and suffering at the hands of Ramsay Bolton…_

 _Jon swore upon the bones of our father that he will save me…_

 _I wanted to be saved once. I prayed for it day and night, and now Jon is here… I can go with him. I can at least try one last time to stay alive, and if we fail I will make sure death will find me some way._

I thought and then my resolve shattered in a million pieces. All the power drained from me and I was left there naked on the bed, vulnerable, looking at Jon's pained eyes.

"Please. Oh please Jon, take me away from here."

I said, my voice barely a sigh and my eyes full of unshed tears, tears of relief. Tears of hope. Both, feelings I had not felt in such a long time, I thought I dreamt them.

"Thank the gods"

Jon murmured, probably to himself.

"We have to hurry now."

He said abruptly, startling me and making me flinch further away from him. I saw understanding in his eyes and an apology that went unsaid, as he slowly rose from the bed, creating more distance between us.

"You'll have to get dressed with something warm that will not draw any attention. And better pack an extra set of clothes."

Jon said as he offered me his hand to help me get up. I hesitated for a moment, but then I gave him my hand and got up. When my feet touched the cold stone floor it was like a million needles prickled my skin. Then my vision filled with black spots and everything started swaying, shifting queerly. I knew the feeling all too well. I was about to faint. I heard a gasp and the next moment a pair of strong warm hands were supporting me. I felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, but I managed to stay conscious somehow, leaning heavily on my half-brother's chest.

"I'm ok… just… just let me lean on you for a moment, it will pass."

I murmured apologetically, almost expecting him to let go of me, letting me fall on the floor, as _he_ would have done, all the while sneering at me…

 _Get a grip Sansa, this is Jon. He was kind and gentle, remember? He would never do that._

"I got you my lady."

Jon replied softly, remembering just now, as it seemed, how I had hated it when he called me by my name without my title. But that was before…

 _I was such a stupid little girl. Why did I ever start being cold and distant to Jon? He never deserved it. By going along with it to please mother, I lost a brother, a good brother. I have to make it right. I will make it right if we ever make it out of here._

I vowed to myself and I felt better, so I left Jon's embrace and walked to the closet with haste. I took out a chemise and a pair of undergarments, a warm black dress I hadn't had the chance to start embroidering before coming to Winterfell, a thick grey cloak lined with fur that belonged to my lady mother and my black gloves. I also chose a pair of thick woolen stockings and my black boots made of lambskin to keep my feet as warm as possible. Then I opened a clean white sheet from the bottom of my closet and threw on top of it haphazardly a dark green dress, two pairs of undergarments, two chemises, and two pairs of stockings, tying them in a tight bundle and slinging them on my arm.

 _If Septa Mordane was here to see the way I packed she would have been appalled. And if Arya was here she would have been proud of me, to finally set my priorities straight. They are both dead though and I will never see them again._

I thought with chagrin. Then I turned around to get dressed and I noted that Jon had his back to me, to give me some privacy and probably to preserve my modesty.

 _What modesty? Whores have no modesty. He surely knows that. I don't deserve his courtesies and I don't deserve his kindness._

I felt bile rising to my throat with that thought, but I swallowed it back down. I had to hurry. There was no time for such thoughts. I willed my frigid hands to move faster with the laces, ignoring the numerous stabs of pain I felt as the fabric slid over my exposed wounds. When I was finally dressed, I went to Jon and put my hand on his stiff shoulder.

As he turned towards me, I saw a pair of stormy eyes that screamed of murder, set on a face made of stone. I was shocked by his rage and I took a step back instinctively to protect myself. He tried to grab my arm, but stopped midway, in the sight of my eyes that had widened with terror.

He immediately turned his head to the side and closed his grey eyes, taking deep breaths to calm down. His hands though were still in tight fists, his knuckles white, trembling with fury.

When he reopened his eyes they were softer, but his stance was no less threatening. He looked ready to pounce. Ready to kill.

"Forgive me for losing my temper. It was most unbecoming. But, Others take me, I want to kill him so bad, I can almost taste it."

Jon said, his voice trembling with intensity. I saw his fist clench and unclench inches away from his sword, as his eyes travelled from me, to the door and then back to me again. He was conflicted.

 _He wants to take me to safety, but he wants to take revenge as well._

I realized as I regained my composure.

"It's fine. I understand."

I replied, taking his still twitching hand in mine.

"Really, I know the feeling, probably better than you. I want to kill him, but first I want to take everything from him; and when he has nothing I want to make him suffer and scream as he dies. I will not settle for anything less than that and now, as much as it pains me, we don't have the time for that. We have to hurry."

I replied, my tone cold, unyielding. I barely recognized that voice as my own.

Jon was at a loss of words, his eyes full of surprise that turned to awe.

"I need you to promise me something though."

I said, softening my tone and expression, but tightening my hold on his hand, wishing I could pour my thoughts in his mind through touch alone.

"Whatever you need my lady."

Jon solemnly promised, completely unaware of what I was about to ask of him.

"If we don't make it, I want you to promise me that you will kill me before they get me. And whatever you do, don't let them catch you alive. If you think what he did to me was bad, you don't want to know what he'll do to you if he gets his hands on you."

I warned him and a shudder ran through me, as I saw Jon in my mind's eye, in the dungeons, screaming while Ramsay skinned him alive.

"No Sansa! I will get you out of here even if it means giving my life for it to happen. But it won't come to that. I have planned the whole thing meticulously. We will be safe, I promise."

He said, giving me another promise entirely. One that he wouldn't be able to uphold.

 _No, no, no, no! I have to make him understand, to make him promise! He has to see! If he gets us, there will be no hope, no escape, only pain, the likes of which no mind can imagine._

"Jon I'm begging you, please kill me if it comes to it. I have wished for death for so long, it will be a kindness. I won't go anywhere unless you promise me Jon! Promise me!"

I beseeched him falling on my knees in front of him on the cold stone floor. I could see surprise etched on his face, followed by rage and lastly by surrender. He must have seen in my eyes the utter despair. He must have seen that I meant every word.

"Ok, ok. I promise! Now get up, we wasted enough time and the hour of ghosts is almost over, we must hurry."

Jon grumbled impatiently, not really meaning it, but it mattered not. Now I was free and I could find death by my own if needed. He stood in front of the door and drew his sword from its scabbard. I had not paid any attention to it before that moment, but now it piqued my interest. Its pommel was a snarling white wolf's head, with blood red eyes, like Jon's wolf, Ghost. Its blade was longer than a normal long sword and shorter than a great sword. It was a bastard sword, but the steel had the same distinctive rippled patterns Ice had.

 _It's made of Valyrian steel._

I realized, awed by the fact that Jon owned a Valyrian steel sword.

Then he took a step back and opened the door softly. The first thing I saw as we emerged in the hallway was the guard, Grunt was his name, sprawled on the stone floor with in a pool of his own blood. I felt almost giddy watching him there, with his throat slit from ear to ear.

We walked down the hallway with my hand tightly clasped inside his. With every step I took my insides felt as if they were being ripped apart and the unhealed cuts on my back and abdomen reopened and started to bleed in earnest, blood seeping through my chemise and soiling my dress. Still I kept on walking right behind him, both of us silent as ghosts. We were not running, we were moving cautiously instead, hiding behind each column and alcove we came across. Then we quickly came down the stairs to reach ground level. By the time we reached the last step my heart was drumming furiously in my chest from exertion and fear, but it proved that my fears were for naught. On our way out of the Great Keep we only came across seven guards, all of them in the same state as Grunt.

Still my heart could not stop hammering in my chest in fear of discovery. Jon's warm hand around my frozen one, pulling me along, and the confidence with which he was moving us through the Keep, were the only things that kept me going.

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the door and stepped outside. It was freezing, and everything was covered in a layer of fresh snow that was falling steadily from the sky. I could see nothing but the white blanket of snow, but this was my home. I didn't need to see to find my way across the yard of Winterfell. As I turned my head to the right I saw four headless guards gathered around a small round table. The snow had already started to cover them and the table, like a crisp sheet. Their heads had probably rolled away from their bodies, and lay somewhere, buried in the snow.

Jon paid them no mind and continued walking ahead through the icy trenches that rose in height with each step we took. Snow fell heavily all around us, limiting our vision and at the same time protecting us from the eyes of the guards on the wall. When we came upon a juncture of three trenches, Jon chose the one that lead to the Battlement's Gate.

 _It's only a half gate. Even if we make it across to the outer wall, there will be no way out. And what if the drawbridge is up for the night? Then we will be trapped. But at least, I could grab Jon's dagger and kill myself._

I thought, as my heart filled with dread and my mind swarm with all that could possibly go wrong.

 _This is madness. Complete madness. We will never make it out of here alive._

I realized as the passage twisted to the left and the Battlement's Gate became visible before us through the falling snow. I could see no guards there and Jon kept on walking hastily, drawing me by my hand. When we reached the gate I saw the two guards, sitting on the snow that had partially covered them.

 _Jon must have killed them on his way in._

I thought to myself, and then I realized that the drawbridge was down. Surely thanks to Jon, because there was no reason for it to be down at this time of night. He led us through the gate and over the moat in a fast pace, supporting me when I lost my footing on a patch of ice. Soon enough we reached the stairs that led to the battlements of the outer wall and begun the ascent.

We were halfway up the icy steps when we heard heavy footsteps coming our way from above. Jon squeezed my hand, and looked at me with his grey eyes that looked black in the darkness, almost as black as the sky above. I wanted to scream in despair. We were so close.

"Wait here."

He mouthed at me slowly and I nodded in understanding.

Then he let go of my hand, climbed the remaining stairs to the top and hid behind a merlon, waiting for the guard to walk past him.

 _He walks silently, like his wolf Ghost._

I noticed as I hid deeper within the shadows crouching on the icy stone step. I kept on watching the drawbridge below in case someone walked by, and strained my ears to hear anything out of the ordinary. My heart was beating frantically and I tried to breathe as quietly as possible.

 _Who am I kidding? I'm panting like a dog and my heartbeat must be loud enough to be heard all the way up to the Wall._

I thought in despair and my panic intensified. Then I heard a soft gurgling sound followed by the sound of something being dragged across the ice.

 _Did Jon kill him? I'm so stupid! I should have asked him for a knife to kill myself in case he died. I could fall off the battlements though. The fall will kill me just as well._

I was lost in my panicked thoughts when I heard soft footsteps coming my way. I turned around, ready to fly to my death when I saw that it was only Jon. Relief flooded me and I let out a breath I had not realized I had been holding.

"My lady I took care of it. We have to hurry now before anyone else comes this way"

He whispered as he gave me his hand to help me up. I flinched at the formal way he addressed me, but I took his hand and followed him up the remaining stairs. As we emerged on the battlements the harsh winter wind knocked the breath out of me. The way Jon kept on going though, it seemed like he hadn't even felt it. He proceeded to secure a pair of grappling hooks on a merlon and let the ropes fall down the wall. I was about to grab mine when he stopped me and put his hands around my waist. For a moment I panicked, but then I realized that he was tying a rope around me. The same rope that disappeared behind his armor.

"You'll go first my lady and I will follow. If you slip and lose your footing, you will not fall. The rope will hold you on me until you regain your footing. But if it comes to it I will get you down by myself."

Jon reassured me, sounding very confident.

"And if you fall what will happen?"

I asked him realizing we would both plunge to our death.

"I won't fall. I have scaled the Wall and I didn't fall then. The walls of Winterfell are easy as pie. Now we have to get going."

Jon replied with a lopsided smile.

I nodded and returned the smile. It felt so awkward on my lips… I couldn't remember the last time I had smiled because I had felt like it. I tore my gaze from his with difficulty. His eyes were so sincere and open, so familiar. They were the eyes of father. The eyes of Arya. They were Stark eyes, promising of things long lost to me. Things I could not dare hope I would ever get back.

 _How long has it been since anyone has looked at me like that? Surely it was before father died, before Arya disappeared, before the nightmare without ending started._

With that thought in mind I started the long climb down the walls of Winterfell.


	2. Chapter 2

**JON**

On my way down the wall I couldn't get the vulgar image of Sansa tied on the bed out of my head. It was like someone had branded it on my mind with a white hot iron. And gods, the smell of that room… I remembered when we were children, her bedchamber always smelled of roses; at least in the handful of times that I passed her open door. This time it stank of blood, sex, burned flesh and wet dog.

The moment my eyes fell on the bed I had gasped in horror and shock. I could hardly process the image before me. Somehow I ended up kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, feeling as if a mammoth had sat atop my shoulders. It was guilt. I had abandoned her to this fate. I had heard the rumors about the Bastard of Bolton, yet I chose to do nothing. I had naively thought he wouldn't dare hurt his only claim to the North. I had even convinced myself that the girl he married wasn't even Sansa at all, but an imposter, just so I could keep my precious vows.

 _I couldn't be more wrong._

I thought with bitterness as I continued climbing down mindlessly. I had already climbed those walls with Robb and Bran a million times. They held no surprises for me. I could do it with my eyes closed and no grappling hook, but now was no time for stupid mistakes. Sansa was weak and she had never done this before. Should she fall, I would have to support her weight and take her to safety.

 _Maybe I should have stuck to the plan and tied her to my back to get her down._

I thought to myself, but I dismissed the idea. She had recoiled from my touch too many times in the span of one hour to know she would not have appreciated the idea

 _I will kill that bloody bastard Ramsay. I will kill him and then I will make the Red Woman bring him back a thousand times, so I can kill him again and again and again._

I vowed to myself, seething with rage. I couldn't remember feeling so much anger, so much hate towards someone, and that surely meant a lot coming from a man who had been betrayed and murdered in cold blood by his own brothers a moon past.

Before setting my eyes upon Sansa on that accursed bed tonight, I thought the scars on _my_ torso looked horrendous, but one look at her made me change my mind. What he had done to her was beyond vile. He had marred her skin with cuts and bruises and burns. He had stripped the skin off her back with a whip and he had bit her breasts until they bled.

 _And that is only what he's done on the outside…_

I thought, as a shudder run through me. I revisited the plan to distract myself, thinking of the huge change I had made in the spur of the moment. I had originally planned to ride south to White Harbor and then buy us passage to one of the Free Cities. I would have taken us somewhere far away from the blasted Lannisters and the bloody Boltons. Somewhere she would be safe and live a happy life. Somewhere I would finally be able to feel warm again.

 _But that's not what will make her happy… Sansa wants justice. She has a thirst for revenge. She said so, plain as day. And only the gods know how much I crave for it myself… but I would have given it all up, just to keep her safe._

I thought to myself. If Sansa wanted revenge, I would deliver, but at the same time I would have to keep her safe. In order to do that, we had to stay in the North, so the only place for us would be the Wildling camp at the Gift. The Bastard of Bolton would send ravens in every Keep, demanding his bride brought back.

 _No Lord will oppose single-handedly the "Warden of the North", no matter how loyal to house Stark he may be. And Castle Black isn't safe either. I may still have enemies there, and even if I don't, it's no place for a highborn lady like Sansa. The Wildlings though owe no allegiance to the Boltons. On the contrary, they have pledged their swords to me. We'll be safe there._

I concluded as I looked down at Sansa, to check on her. The climb down the icy wall had been slow, but thankfully uneventful and I thanked the gods silently, praying they would grant us their favor for a little while longer. We were almost there.

After a moment, Sansa stepped on land and I quickly followed her with a jump on the fresh powdery snow below that reached all the way to the middle of my thighs. I grabbed her then and made her stand with her back on the wall. Sansa flinched at my touch yet again, fear evident in her eyes and I cursed myself silently for being so forceful.

"Stay here and don't move."

I told her softly, watching our breaths mingle in the air. She relaxed a little and nodded at me, closing her eyes tightly when she saw me get closer to her. I fumbled in the darkness with the knots on her waist, my fingers stiff and numb from the cold. I could feel her body shake under my touch, but she did not move an inch, staying right where I had put her. When I was done I untied mine as well, letting the rope fall on the ground. Then I crouched down and dug the fresh snow uncovering a pair of white cloaks I had left there earlier. The night was very dark, yet one could never be too cautious. I looked up in the sky. Through the snowfall, I could see that the moon had risen in the sky. The clouds were hiding it completely, but, even though it was just a sliver, its meager glow was still visible.

 _Others take me! It's the hour of the wolf already… We have to hurry into the woods and put some distance between us and Winterfell before dawn comes._

I thought as the snow fell on my face, obscuring my vision.

 _It's for the better if the blizzard starts now. It will help conceal our tracks and it will make it impossible for a search party to follow us. We have to be inside the Wolfswood before it becomes impossible to move._

I thought and turned abruptly to face Sansa, offering her one of the cloaks.

"Wear this."

I told her brusquely, offering her the white cloak. She looked exhausted and scared and her lips had gone blue from the frost.

She nodded at me and took the cloak, looking at it for a moment and then unfolding it to fasten it on her neck, on top of her grey one. I wore mine as well and then I grabbed her hand and ran out in the open.

 _Running in snow that comes up to a man's loins is no easy feat, but we have to do it all the same if we want to stay alive. At least with all that snow falling and without any lights from the sky, no guard will be able to spot us._

We were halfway there when Sansa collapsed behind me. I turned to help her up but she was unmoving; unconscious. There was no time to waste, so I took her in my arms and ran the rest of the way.

 _She is so light, so thin… it surely isn't healthy for her. That bastard Ramsay must have been starving her. As if the rest of the shit he's been doing to her were not enough._

When I made it to the woods I could hardly feel my legs from the frost.

 _Gods I hope none of us gets frostbite tonight._

I mused as I moved through the Wolfswood. In the cover of the trees I found the two horses I had brought with me, still tied on the tree where I had left them. I lay Sansa on the forest floor, crouching in front of her.

"Sansa please wake up, there is no time. We have to leave."

I pleaded her, while I shook her softly to help her come to. I felt her stir and then stiffen and somehow I was fast enough to cover her mouth with my palm before she had a chance to scream. The next heartbeat she opened her eyes and screamed on my palm, trying to get away and clawing at my leather jerkin wildly.

"Shhh! It's me Jon! Be quiet, or we will not live to see the dawn."

I whispered urgently and after a moment her panic subsided and she stopped screaming and thrashing around. I removed my hand from her mouth and offered it to help her up. In the darkness I could not see her face, but I heard her sigh right before she grabbed my hand to get up.

"I'm sorry Jon… I… I don't think I'll make it. I'm too weak for all that. I will get us both killed."

She murmured softly. Her blue eyes looked black in the darkness and void of emotion, but the fear and resignation were evident enough in her voice. My heart clenched at her words.

 _She is expecting me to abandon her here in the woods and run for my life._

I realized and I wanted to weep for the girl that believed in songs and knights in shining armor, for that girl was no more.

"Sansa, listen to me!"

I commanded her, grabbing her shoulders tightly and looked deep in her eyes. I startled her, making her flinch and stiffen again. I felt guilt churn in my gut, but I had to make her understand.

"I will not leave you here. I will take you to safety, no matter what. You are the only family I have in the word. Not to mention, if I were to leave you here, father's ghost would haunt me to my grave."

"I really want to believe you Jon, but it's so hard…"

Sansa replied with a sob, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"It's ok, I understand. We will take it a step at a time."

I assured her, while wiping the tears from her cheeks, before they had a chance to freeze there.

"Now may I help you mount my lady?"

I inquired, remembering the bloody courtesies she loved so much.

"Jon I… I don't know whether I can ride by myself. I faint a lot lately and I… I haven't ridden a horse ever since I left Winterfell all those years ago…"

She admitted, sounding ashamed of herself.

"Then you will ride with me and we will have the second horse to change into when the first one tires."

I retorted, quickly finding a way to make things work.

"I guess that could work. Oh, and yes you may lift me up."

Sansa agreed timidly, looking down and I proceeded to put my hands around her waist to lift her up. As I did so, she hissed in pain and I cursed myself for not remembering her injuries. When she was safely mounted, I climbed on behind her and took the reins, urging the horses to run away from Winterfell and into the dark forest.

As we moved through the Wolfswood, heading north, I felt a snowflake land on my cheek.

 _If snow made it through the canopy of the trees, then the blizzard has started._

I thought, looking up and seeing only darkness, the same thing I saw all around. I knew the Wolfswood near Winterfell like the palm of my hand, but still the darkness unmanned me. The only reason I hadn't lost it was the feel of Sansa leaning on my chest and the horse moving under me.

I needed the light. Ever since my resurrection, the dark was the only thing I was terrified of. The darkness of death. In Castle Black I slept with the candles burning, to chase away the shadows of night. On my way south I always lit a fire and slept right beside it at nightfall. Now though we were on the run. I couldn't light a torch, but the dawn was near. I could feel it in my bones.

That feeling emerged right after my resurrection, and hasn't gone away since. The first time I felt it was only a few hours after I came back. I was lost, confused and I had plunged into despair, but as sunrise grew closer I could feel the relief grow inside me. The darkness would recede and there would be light. The emptiness didn't go away though and neither did the cold… They clung to me like a woman's perfume and no matter what I did, I couldn't wash them off me.

During the first fortnight after my resurrection, I would do nothing but sit near the window of my chambers, looking outside, thinking of the darkness, the emptiness… the cold. I had nothing to live for anymore. No family, no friends, no woman. I had forsaken all of that for the Watch and for the Realm, but my brothers had killed me and obviously the Realm would survive without me. The only thing that kept me from going mad had been Ghost. He was the one who saved me from the darkness. My consciousness entered his body after my death and I didn't linger in the nothingness.

I remembered vividly the day I was pulled out of my catatonic state. Edd burst into my room that morning, yelling at me and pulling me out of the chair. He had come before, with smiles and soft words that caused no reaction from me. I hadn't wanted to get up, but he wouldn't relent, so I let him. I must have been walking behind him, as he pulled me along with a strong grip on my forearm. I found myself in my former study, sitting on the chair behind the desk. Atop the desk was a single parchment. It had not been sealed. It lay flat on the desk instead, waiting for me to read it as it seemed. I looked around, but Edd was no longer here. It was only me and the letter.

I looked at it with unseeing eyes. I had no wish to read it. That changed the moment a familiar name materialized between the lines. "Sansa Stark". My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly I felt like I was being pulled back into reality. I took the letter in my hands and read it from the beginning.

It was an old letter. It had arrived three moons past. I had read it then and I chose to do nothing, just so I could keep my vows to the Watch, because it was the honorable thing to do. But there were no more vows to uphold and I could do something good with this second life I'd been given. I could save Sansa from the Boltons and I could keep her protected at all times, as I should have done years ago. At that moment I found a purpose. The Watch had no use for me, the Realm didn't need me, but Sansa did, and I would rescue her, come hell or high water.

I had planned her "abduction" meticulously on my way south and for the past week I lay hidden in the edge of the forest timing the shifts of the guards on the walls, waiting for the perfect night. A moonless night. A night just before the much awaited blizzard would start.

 _At least that skill I acquired north of the Wall has proven to be very useful._

I thought wryly. Knowing when the snow was coming was a matter of life and death north of the Wall. Ygritte taught me the signs in order to survive. As she always put it, I knew nothing, but at least I had learned this much…

Sansa was unconscious again and she was leaning on me. She had been like that for quite some time, but she murmured softly in her sleep and I knew she was ok. My hands were frozen on the reins, my beard was full of icicles and I was utterly exhausted, but I had to keep going.

When I looked back up I could make out through the thick foliage small graying patches of sky.

 _It is dawn already._

I thought with relief. Inside the Wolfswood the shadows began to lift just a little, just enough for me to be able to see what lay directly ahead.

As the horses galloped through the forest, I could hear small animals moving on the trees and the rustling of the leaves in the wind all around us. It smelled of pine and earth and snow, and for a small moment I remembered all the times we came here with father to hunt at the crack of dawn. Theon would always strike true with his longbow and Rob and I would strive to best him, to no avail. At least we could beat him with a sword or a lance any day, and that was a big consolation for the both of us. Father had also been an average archer at best, but he loved the hunt. He would laugh or shrug every time he missed, whereas Rob and I would sulk when we hit a nearby three instead of the deer we intended to kill.

I was lost in the memories when I felt something warm on my cheek.

 _I am crying._

I realized with a start and tried to regain my composure for the second time tonight, wiping the tears that had already started to harden from the frost. Now was not the time for memories and tears. I had to be focused in order to get us out of here.

 _They must have found out by now the dead guards and realized that Sansa is gone, but our trail will be nicely covered and no man will be able to follow us into the blizzard, especially if they take the Kingsroad to any direction._

I mused, but still I strained my ears to hear the sound of hooves on the ground. There was none to be heard, save for our own two horses. I have chosen them well. They were white as snow and of northern breed. They could run for miles in snow, ice and the unkempt trails of the haunted forest beyond the Wall. The Watch bred them specifically for the skirmishes of the rangers and Edd provided me two, which I promised to return.

I was lost in thought when I felt Sansa stir in front of me. I looked at her face that was leaning on my shoulder and it had a pained expression. She started whimpering and soon enough she was thrashing around violently. I tried to steady her, but her violent movements scared the horse, so I stopped it, dismounted and took down as well, before she could fall down and get hurt. I sat her on the snow-covered earth and crouched before her, shaking her shoulder as I pleaded her to wake.

"Wake up Sansa! It's a dream. You are safe now. He can't hurt you anymore."

Sansa's eyes opened suddenly, wide and terrified she released a small whimper, but no scream. She was trembling uncontrollably. Her eyes were scanning the darkness, and then she locked them on my face in front of her.

"Jon?"

She asked me disoriented.

"Yes it's me. We escaped together, remember? We are in the Wolfswood."

I explained as softly as possible.

"Why have we dismounted?"

She asked with a furrow between her brows, all the while looking around in the forest, trying to understand what was happening.

"You were having a nightmare and you were thrashing around, scaring the horse, so I stopped and lifted you off, to prevent you from falling down. Now that you are awake though, we have to keep going."

I told her and she shifted trying to get up. I got up with a jump and wiped my gloves on the leathers of my torso to rid of the dirt, but they slid right down, as if they were wet. I examined them carefully and saw a thin film of liquid coating them. As I raised them towards my face, the smell of blood was unmistakable. I looked at Sansa then, waiting by the horses. She was wearing black and the black color concealed the blood, but she was surely bleeding heavily.

 _Many of her wounds are quite fresh and they must have opened during our escape. How could I be so stupid to forget? What good is it taking her out of Winterfell, only for her to die of blood loss on the way?_

I thought, holding myself responsible for putting her life at risk and adjusting the plan yet again. We had to disinfect those cuts and dress them. I looked around for a clean spot and found an ancient weirwood to my left, with thick white roots that came out of the earth and long branches full of red leaves that swayed in the winter wind. Upon closer inspection I realized its trunk had a face. Its eyes were big and sad. Red sap was seeping from the sockets, running down its bone white bark and dripping into its downturned mouth like tears of blood. Satisfied by the spot, I walked over to Sansa and took her hand inside mine.

"My lady you are bleeding. We have to dress your wounds and stop the blood loss."

I told her while looking into her striking blue eyes that went from curious, to guarded and finally horrified in a second.

"No! I don't want you to see them Jon. Please, just… just let it be. I'll be fine."

Sansa pleaded, denying my care, but I couldn't let it go. This was serious.

"I can't let you bleed to death! And I already saw! Why do you think I went mad in your bedchamber?"

I said exasperated, looking at her pained expression and then I remembered I was talking to Sansa, the proper little lady. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to calm down.

 _Of course she doesn't want her half-brother to see her naked. Remember your place bastard._

There was a bitter taste in my mouth as I reprimanded myself, remembering all the times she called me "half-brother". Now though, was hardly the time for propriety. This was a matter of life and death. I had to find a way to meet her at the middle.

"You can do your front by yourself my lady. This way I will only need to see your back. I didn't mean to overstep your boundaries."

I apologized, offering her a solution. She seemed to ponder it for a moment and then nodded hesitantly at me.

 _Thank the gods!_

I thought, and took her by the hand leading her to the weirwood tree, making her sit on one of its gigantic roots. I went to the horses and searched through my supplies for two clean cloths, a skin of water and the skin full of rum Three-Finger Hob gave me before I set off south of the Wall. I had no healing salves, but Sam mentioned once that rum was as good at disinfecting wounds, as boiled wine, or vinegar, so it was worth a try.

I took them over to Sansa and lay them on the root beside her.

"In the large skin there is water and in the small one there is rum. Use the water to clear away the blood and then dab the open cuts with the rum to disinfect them. It will hurt a lot, but hopefully it will stop them from festering."

I instructed her and turned on my heel, giving her some privacy to undress and clean herself. I walked to the horses that had already started to eat some of the frozen grass on the ground and found the things Sansa packed. I untied the knot at the top and took out a fresh set of clothes for her, storing the extra undergarments in one of my bags, all the while trying not to look at them. Then I went on to shred the clean linen sheet in long, wide strips to dress her wounds.

"Jon? I finished the front, you may come now."

She called me in a soft timid voice, just as I was shredding the last strip of linen. I grabbed a handful of them in one hand and her clothes in the other and turned around. What I saw took my breath away. It looked like a picture of extreme beauty. A picture of raw brutality, done only in bright reds and whites. Sansa was sitting there, on the bone white root of the weirwood tree, its blood red leaves swaying in the wind above her head, powdery white snow covering the ground. She was clutching her grey cloak tightly in her front and she had her auburn locks drawn to the side with her back turned towards me. The once alabaster skin of her shapely back was marred with numerous scars, some of them open, with bright red blood seeping out, trailing down her back in rivulets that dripped on the virginal white snow below. It was the absolute depiction of innocence despoiled.

 _This is what the Maiden would look like if a monster hurt and violated her._

I thought to myself, and resumed walking towards her, snapping out of it. I draped her clothes on the root, along with the bandages and picked up the cloth with the most blood on it. I rinsed it with some fresh water and pressed it gently on her back, wiping away the blood with gentle motions. As I cleaned her up, she wouldn't stop trembling. Maybe it was from the biting cold, maybe from embarrassment, I would never know. I didn't dare ask. I carried on with my task with reverence. I expected her to hiss and flinch away from the cloth that was saturated with rum, but she did none of those things. She just stood there, stoically, waiting for me to finish.

When I was done I picked the first piece of bandage, ready to wrap it around her. I realized then that she may not want me to help her dress her wounds. I had to ask her. I had to remember to always ask for her permission.

 _Only the gods know how much she must need that._

"My lady, would you like for me to dress your wounds?"

I asked her, expecting her to tell me no. She released a heavy sigh and turned to me.

"No, but unfortunately it is necessary that you help me Jon. Just… could you please stay where you are?"

Sansa replied with a resigned tone, her eyes pleading me to understand. I understood better than she would ever know. I had scars of my own, unnatural scars that spoke of death on a body that was still alive, scars of betrayal.

 _"Daggers in the dark."_

Whispered the voice of Lady Melissandre in my mind and I shuddered in the memory of it.

"Yes of course."

I replied, my voice hoarse, as I passed her the first strip of bandage. She let her cloak fall on her knees and took the bandage from my hands. She started tying it around her at her hips, and I helped her every time she reached her back, giving her new strips when the one she had came to an end. Every time she lifted her hands I would get a glimpse of the side of her left breast, that was partially covered by her red curls and I would turn my eyes away. Soon enough we had covered her whole torso thanks to our joint efforts.

"I will leave you to get dressed, but please do hurry. We already wasted time we didn't have to spare."

I told her while I gathered the skins, the bloodstained cloths and her bloody clothes to my hands.

 _I can leave no trace of her behind in the woods. I have to burn all of her clothes as soon as possible. Maybe on our next stop…_

I mused, remembering Sansa's panicked ramblings about the Bastard of Bolton hunting her in the woods for sport. For now, I gathered everything inside the dress and tied them in a bundle, securing it on the saddle of the second horse. I heard her light footsteps coming my way and I turned around.

 _She looks a little better…_

I thought to myself as she approached me. I gave her my gloved hand and helped her mount the white mare, following her immediately and bringing the horses to a trot.

For a moment we were silent, each of us lost in thought. Then I felt her turn towards me and I lowered my gaze to meet hers.

"Jon I want to thank you for everything."

Sansa said with a voice full of raw emotion, while locking her gaze with mine.

"Thank you for coming to save me in my hour of greatest need. Nobody else did. Only you. All the knights of the Seven Kingdoms heard of my marriage to that monster and nobody cared. Only you did, my brother."

"And I want to apologize for all the times I was horrible at you when we were children. For all the times I scorned you and gave you the cold shoulder. I know an apology is not enough. I had been such a stupid, spoiled child… Please forgive me Jon!"

She continued, almost begging me.

 _She called me brother, not "half-brother". She needs a family as much as I do._

I thought, my heart soaring with happiness.

"My lady there is nothing to forgive. It's all water under the bridge now."

I assured her, believing every word I said. All of the petty little things of the past seemed so unimportant now… I would never hold them against her. Not after everything we've been through.

"There is plenty to forgive, but thank you Jon. Thank you for your kindness."

"But for the love of gods, stop calling me 'my lady' already! You are my brother and you will call me by my name only!"

Sansa demanded with fervor. That fire in her eyes, her determination the moment she spoke, transformed her whole face. She looked so alive, so beautiful! At this moment I realized what a beautiful woman Sansa had become. She looked a lot like her mother, but she also had an ethereal quality to her that Lady Catelyn never had.

 _What the heck? Who cares whether Sansa is beautiful or not?_

 _More importantly, she finally wants me to drop the stupid courtesies and call her by her name, like a true brother would._

I thought, my happiness intensifying.

"Of course my la- Sansa"

I replied, correcting myself. It was hard to shake a habit. Especially one I had to follow throughout my entire childhood.

She smiled at me then and the whole world lit up.

 _I'll do anything to see her smile like that again._

I thought to myself and smiled back at her, feeling the ice inside me thaw a little.

 _I haven't felt such happiness since before I became Lord Commander. No… ever since before I left Winterfell. I have a family again! It may be only Sansa, but I wouldn't change her for the world. From our "pack" of 7, now only we two were still alive._

I realized, my happiness dwindling, as I remembered all of my other siblings, now dead for years.

"Where are we going to go Jon? _He_ will hunt us down and find us, even if we hide in the deepest part of the seventh hell. Nowhere is safe."

Sansa said, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. She sounded terrified again, and I wanted her to feel safe again.

"We will go to the Wildling camp at the Gift. I have friends there whom I can trust to keep us safe until we hatch a plan."

Sansa's eyes widened at my statement.

"Wildlings? Since when do you have Wildling friends? And why are you south of the Wall? Did you break your vows to the Night's Watch?"

She asked, probably realizing just now that I have ended my watch, and then she gasped, horror etching her face.

"Tell me you didn't abandon your watch for me Jon! The punishment for defection is death! I can't bear to lose you now that I found you!"

Sansa cried out, close to hysteria.

"Before you freak out, please let me explain."

I told her, as I tried to find a way to explain to her how I died and came back to life.

"As you know, whoever takes the black, swears their vows before the gods. The vows are as follows: Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

"Yes Jon I know all that. In the Night's Watch everyone serves for life."

Sansa said, interrupting me, before I got to finish.

"You are right. But I died Sansa. My sworn brothers killed me. Their Lord Commander. My watch has ended."

I told her sincerely, and watched her knit her eyebrows in confusion. She looked at me like I was crazy.

"You don't make any sense Jon. Is this some kind of jest?"

She asked before I could end my story and explain about my resurrection, so I took a deep breath to continue.

"Sansa it's not a jest, or a lie for that matter. And I have the stab wounds to prove it. One even pierced my heart. I was dead for a whole day when Lord Davos fetched the Red Woman, a priestess of the Lord of Light, and asked her to bring me back. She tried and succeeded, so here I am, alive."

I concluded, sighing at the end. Sansa's eyes were round as saucers in disbelief and I couldn't fathom what mine looked like at the moment. The emotions inside them must have been convincing enough though, judging by the change in Sansa's expression. She was no longer befuddled. She was sad…

"I'm so sorry! What they did to you was horrible! The men you trusted… how could they bring themselves to do it? And Lord Davos and that Red Woman… I have to thank them. If it weren't for them… I don't even want to think the alternative."

Sansa said, sadness palpable in her voice.

 _Sansa was sad for me? How is it possible for her to even care so much?_

"I hanged them Sansa. I hanged them all… but they still haunt me. I can still feel the daggers…"

I said with a faraway look and a detached voice. It was like I was talking about somebody else. I shuddered as I remembered the darkness. It could have lasted for a second, but it felt to me like it lasted for an eternity. Then I was pulled inside Ghost's body. But the darkness was never far. The emptiness was ever present. The cold was part of me… I tried to keep my mind off my death and the shadow that clung to me since then. I concentrated on the gallop of the horse, its hard muscles moving under me, on the snowflakes that fell all around, on the warmth of Sansa's soft body pressed onto me…

As I returned from that dark place in my mind I realized that Sansa was talking.

"I'm sorry, I was not paying attention. Can you repeat it please?"

I asked her hesitantly.

"I was asking you whether they killed you because you have Wildlings for friends."

She said lightly, not knowing how true her question rang.

"Something like that…"

I replied, not wanting to scare her with tales about the Others and their thralls. She just escaped from one monster. She had no need for more to plague her nightmares.

She did not respond right away, understanding that I was not ready to share. Not yet.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to pry. I want you to know though, that when you are ready to talk, I'm here for you brother."

She said softly. How she could be so sweet and attentive under these circumstances was beyond me. She had just escaped hell and instead of seeking support, she was offering support to _me_. I took a deep breath and held it inside, as if by keeping it in, the words wouldn't escape my mouth.

"It's not that… I did what I thought was right, and I would do it again, even now that I know the price paid for it. I'm not ashamed of it and I certainly don't want to keep it a secret. All of the Seven Kingdoms must know… But Sansa, I don't want to burden you with more monsters. You had your fair share of them. I just want to keep you safe and happy."

I concluded, hoping she understood.

I saw her turn her head towards me and I found myself looking into her eyes. Big and blue and full of hard determination.

"I'm not the little girl that believes in songs and brave knights any more Jon. And I certainly am not the little girl that lets others make the decisions for her. You can't shield me from the monsters. If it's something that important though, I need to know. After all, you can't keep me in the dark forever."

Said Sansa, her voice was laced with cynicism and bitterness.

I noticed I had let go of the reins with my right hand and I was flexing my fingers once again in nervousness. It was a habit I should have dropped off ages ago, but I never did. It had stayed with me ever since that night I burned my hand in Lord Commander Mormont's chambers in my attempt to kill the wight.

 _She's right… I can't keep her in the dark forever. At least she will hear it from me and not from somebody else in the Wildling camp._

I thought with disappointment as I took the reins back in my hand and let a deep sigh escape me.

"Remember the stories Old Nan used to tell Bran? The ones about the Long Night?"

I asked her, trying to start off by something familiar.

"Of course I do Jon! What do the stories Old Nan used to say, have to do with you? They were just stories. Most of them weren't even true."

Sansa asked with a dismissive tone, not making the connection yet.

"What if I told you that they are true Sansa?"

I inquired softly, reluctant to unfold the horror before her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous Jon! Of course they aren't!"

She replied, still not believing that the dead were walking.

"Sansa, you have no idea how much I wish I could tell you that you're right, but I can't. You asked me to tell you the truth. And the truth is that winter is coming, and the army of the dead comes with it. I have seen them with my own eyes Sansa. I killed a wight with my own hands…"

I said, my voice fading into a whisper at the end. I was flexing the fingers of my sword hand again.

Sansa swallowed audibly and fidgeted, probably contemplating whether I had gone mad or not.

"You asked me why they killed me."

I continued, breaking the silence after a few moments. And I felt her nod on my shoulder.

"They killed me because they believed I broke my vows…I let the Wildlings pass the Wall to save their lives. All those men, women and children were being slaughtered by the Others and then their dead bodies were being reanimated to fight in the army of the dead. There were thousands of wildlings beyond the Wall. If I hadn't granted them passage, they would have all turned into wights."

"But, the Night's Watch has been fighting the Wildlings for so long… they forgot they were not the true enemy. We vowed be to the shield that guards the realms of men and that is possible only when fighting an enemy that is not human. But the hatred between them ran too deep and the Night's Watch is not what it used to be. There are no knights there anymore, no sons of great lords, only thieves, rapists and murderers. And all of them too narrow-minded, too short-sighted… none of them could see the bigger picture. That's why they killed me Sansa."

I concluded, straightening my shoulders that have shagged by the memory of the weight that had fallen on me.

 _I am free from it now. Free of my vows, free to do what I think is right and honorable and free to protect Sansa._

"Jon I… I don't even know what to say…"

Sansa said in a small voice, still dazed and confused.

"I know. It's a lot to take in."

I replied, my voice full of understanding, wanting to give her some time to let everything set.

"So, the dead are coming, the Night's Watch is in ruins, the North is divided and the Seven Kingdoms are impoverished and destroyed by the war… Jon, if what you say is true, then we are good as dead."

Sansa exclaimed, her voice thick with desperation.

I let go of the reins with my right hand and took her small, delicate ones inside it, trying to provide what little comfort I could.

"As long as the Wall stands, the dead cannot pass. And we will not surrender without a fight Sansa. We will fight with everything we have, because any other option is unimaginable."

I assured her with conviction as I squeezed her hands inside mine gently.

Silence followed my statement. I had nothing else to add, so I let my mind wander as our ride north continued through the thick forest.

 _All things considered, she took it rather well._

I mused, looking back at her reactions.

 _She wasn't frightened out of her mind and she didn't cry a single tear. The Sansa I remembered would have given a high pitched squeak and she surely would have cried if I told her that the dead are coming._

At that thought my fists clenched tight, my knuckles whitening beneath my gloves, because I had seen how she came to change this much.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the grumbling of Sansa's stomach.

 _I'm such a fool! I forgot to feed her! She must be starving and food will help her get better._

I thought, while searching my satchel for the biscuits and the smoked venison. They were cold and hard, but they would fill her belly all the same.

"Sansa, are you hungry?"

I asked and I felt her tense immediately. Her body grew taut as a bowstring, and she stopped breathing. Something was wrong.

"What's the matter? I just heard your stomach grumble and I wanted to give you something to eat. I have smoked venison and biscuits. I know it's not that good and that you need some broth to help you get warm, but we can't afford to light a fire now."

I apologized, mumbling like a fool.

"I… no my lor-, Jon. It's your food. I can't possibly… you should have it."

She replied, shaking her head in denial. Her reply had been queer. I remembered how thin she was, how she had fainted time and time again… I was sure the Bastard of Bolton had been the one starving her, but that wouldn't explain her unwillingness to eat right now.

 _Did I get it wrong? Has she been doing it to herself instead?_

"Yes, it's my food and I want to share it with you. I have more than enough for the both of us."

"I know you haven't been eating properly. You are practically skin and bone. Why do you not wish to eat?"

"Jon I… It's not that I don't want to eat. Actually I can't remember the last time my stomach felt full. But _he_ … Ramsay… He let me starve for days, and then he… he…"

She said, beginning her explanation, but stopping it midway. Whatever it was, it was bad, so when I heard her take a deep breath to continue, I braced myself in order to hold back my anger.

"He used to come into my bedchamber to eat some of his meals in front of me while I was tied on the bed, smelling the delicious food and listening to him describe how good it tasted and how I would get some only when I deserved it and not a moment before."

She continued with a detached voice.

"And he indeed fed me his leftovers whenever I gave him what he wanted, which was more often than I would care to admit after that first moon. He came into my bedchamber so many times using the exact same words you did just now, in a sing-song voice, as if we were playing a game in his mind…"

Sansa confessed, her soft voice trailing off at the end, as she took the food off my hand that I had forgotten was there.

My hold tightened on the reins and that terrible anger from last night returned. Red as fire. Red as blood. He would pay. By the time I was done with him he would be begging me to end him. Taking his life would be so sweet…

 _Not now. Sansa is here now. Get it back together._

I ordered myself, snapping out of the red haze enough to apologize to her for reminding her of him.

"It wasn't your fault Jon. It was me. I overreacted."

She replied with a small voice, still obviously shaken.

"Will you at least try to eat some of the food? I would have given you more, but eating too much after a long time of starvation just makes you throw up, so you have to start small and build up from there."

I told her, rambling once again. I didn't want her to think I was starving her as well. I felt her nod against my chest and I smiled a small smile.

"And eat slowly. It will help you keep the food in your stomach."

I advised her, wanting her to feel better.

 _I will get her to trust me, even if it kills me. I'll show her I have no ulterior motive for saving her, no hidden agenda. That I don't want something from her in return. But that needs time and effort and a lot of patience…_

I thought to myself and a sigh escaped my lips.

I was happy to see that Sansa had started to eat slowly her meal, as I advised her. It was just one biscuit and a piece of smoked venison, but by the time she was done half of the meat was untouched.

"Are you sure you can't eat any more of the meat? Are you really full?"

I asked her, feeling a little dubious about the reason she stopped.

"I'm very full Jon. I know it's too little, but I ate close to nothing for the past four moons. If I eat one more bite, I think I'll throw everything up."

She confessed, sounding a little embarrassed. I opened my palm in front of her and she gave me the rest of the venison, which I promptly put back into my satchel.

"Don't worry about it. I just want you to get your strength back Sansa."

 _Gods I had no family for so long, I'm afraid I will crush her with my over-protectiveness. At least she has not complained about it yet…_

I turned my head down then, to determine what she was thinking by her expression. I was surprised to see that she had fallen asleep whilst I was thinking, her head leaning on my right shoulder. Her full pink lips were parted, her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her long full lashes were softly touching the upper part of her cheek. She looked so beautiful, so innocent.

 _I want to touch her, to caress her ivory skin and feel its softness._

That thought came unbidden to my mind, surprising me in its intensity. I tightened my hands on the reins, ashamed of myself.

 _Where did that come from?_

I asked myself, appalled. I shook my head to clear it and buried that thought deep in my mind.

 _Sansa is my sister. I just wanted to comfort her._

I assured myself and concentrated on the horses, on the blizzard that kept on going, on our next stop and whether we would light a fire or not.

And when I ran out of things to keep my mind from wandering, I filled it with a million deaths of Ramsay Snow by my hand.

At least that would keep my mind busy as she slept, without room for unwanted thoughts, as we continued north.


	3. Chapter 3

**SANSA**

I woke up again sometime in the afternoon. It was the first time in a long time that I slept with a full stomach and without nightmares. The first thing I noticed was the warmth that radiated from Jon's chest, and seeped through all the layers of our clothing to the battered skin of my back, soothing my aches. And then I felt his arms, barely touching mine, encircling me and keeping me safe and protected. I felt like a little girl again, going for a ride with father, sitting right in front of him as he brought the horse into a fast gallop. The wind had been hitting on my face then and blowing at my hair, but the speed was so exhilarating I couldn't stop laughing, and father was laughing right along with me. The memory was so sweet, I didn't want to open my eyes and spoil the moment.

 _Maybe I'm dreaming a beautiful dream for once and then I will wake up to Ramsay's face, realizing that none of it happened… I want to stay here forever._

I thought, but all too soon the horse stopped moving and I felt Jon's gloved hand on my shoulder. His touch was so light, it was barely there.

"Time to wake up Sansa."

He whispered softly in my ear, soothingly, probably afraid he would scare me if he used a harsher tone.

I groaned and stretched my body, leaning a little more on him and I hissed immediately in pain, as some of my wounds reopened, staining the tight bandages.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but its noon and we have to rest our legs and eat something. I found us a nice dry spot to light a fire, warm ourselves up and cook some stew."

Jon explained, as I opened my eyes to the sight of an ancient oak, its trunk wide and full of moss on its south side. Looking up, I saw its branches stretch out, still full of dark green leaves coated with snow, blocking out the sky entirely above them. The land underneath was dry as a bone, with no sign of snow on it.

I felt Jon dismount behind me and he promptly helped me get down as well. I felt sore from riding all those hours and all those cuts and bruises only made things more difficult. As I tried to stretch, without stretching too much, I watched Jon take the horses a little further, tying them to a tree near a creek. Then he unsheathed his sword and used it to break the ice that had formed on the surface, revealing the clean water flowing underneath. I walked over to him, stepping on the fallen pine needles that silenced my steps. He turned to me though, sensing my presence and offered me his skin, now full of fresh water.

"I thought you might be thirsty."

He said with a smile dancing on his lips. Jon was the brooding type and he scarcely smiled, but when he did, his whole face lit up and his eyes danced with mirth.

 _He looks absolutely dashing when he smiles._

I thought to myself, wondering how I'd never noticed it before.

"Now that you mention it, I'm quite thirsty."

I said, feeling a blush rise at my cheeks for some reason and I took the skin off his hands, smiling back at him. I opened it and drank small sips of the freezing water as Jon fended off to gather wood for a fire. I was watching the horses drink from the stream, but my mind wandered into a dark place. A place where Ramsay's hands were on me, squeezing my throat tightly, bringing me to the edge of unconsciousness and then stopping, only to repeat it again and again as he moved inside me, tearing me apart… Suddenly I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around immediately, scanning the woods for the owner of those eyes, ready to scream for Jon to come. At first inspection I saw nothing, but then, I spotted a pair of bright red eyes looking at me from between two ferns. Soon the face of a huge white direwolf emerged through the vegetation, followed by its enormous body.

 _It's Ghost! Jon's direwolf is still alive and with him! Thank the gods!_

I thought, feeling giddy and lighthearted as the beast approached me. Ghost was now directly before me, sniffing at my boots, then at my dress and then I gave him my palm, which he promptly sniffed and then licked with his rough tongue. I placed my other hand on the back of his neck, scratching his thick soft fur there, just as I remembered Lady liked to be petted. I looked around and saw a big rock under the oak, a few feet away, so I walked over and sat on it. Ghost immediately followed, lying down before me, begging me to pet him some more. I indulged him, burying my hand in the soft fur of his exposed belly. For the first time in years I felt truly happy and carefree.

This is how Jon found us a few minutes later. He had a stack of twigs in his arms and a sullen expression on his face, which turned into a huge smile. I realized I was smiling back at him, and it felt so good to be able to smile again.

 _Jon is bringing me back to life._

I thought, still with a smile on my lips.

"At last, you show up!"

Jon said, with mock exasperation in his voice, as he let the twigs hit the forest floor.

"Where have you been this entire time boy?"

He continued as he crouched down opposite of me, removed the glove of his right hand and started petting him alongside me. Ghost stayed silent, as always. My eyes fell on Jon's hand and I noticed that he had burned it badly at one point. It must have hurt a lot…

"He came to me just after you left to gather wood for the fire"

I told him, feeling the need to explain myself for some reason.

"At first I thought that somebody found us, but thankfully, that was not the case."

I continued, turning my gaze upwards to look into his grey eyes. My fingers accidentally brushed his and I felt a peculiar tingling sensation travel up my arm. Jon immediately got up, like my touch had burned him. Confusion must have shown plainly on my face, and I made to apologize to him, but he spoke first.

"We have no time for petting now. I have to build a fire, to make something to eat and to burn your bloodstained clothes."

Jon said, looking somewhere above my head and turning around to light the fire.

 _That was quite odd… maybe he felt that tingling too…_

I thought, but chose to ignore it. Jon had a lot in his mind and now he was under a lot of pressure. He had to make sure we were not found and that we arrived safely at our destination. And for that he had to outsmart Ramsay.

 _Up until now, Jon has done a splendid job. He chose the day with the perfect weather. Ramsay can't follow us with his hounds and he knows it. He must beside himself with anger… The best part is that any search party will be hindered by the blizzard and they'll be moving very slowly. Even if they follow us into the forest, they will be able to bring no dogs to find us. But if they do…_

"Jon I have an idea!"

I exclaimed, suddenly looking up at him. I had stopped stroking Ghost's fur for quite some time, lost in thought. Jon looked up from the fire that has just started to burn, its red flames reflected clearly in his grey eyes.

 _Fire on ice._

I thought, the resemblance quite uncanny to miss. I shook my head though and returned back to my previous idea. Jon was waiting, curiosity etched on his face, fire still dancing in his eyes.

"After the blizzard stops, Ramsay will come out with the hounds and he'll hunt us down. By then he'll know we didn't take the King's Road, so the Wolfswood is his only other option. Our trail leads straight up north, so I thought we could plant false trails, all over the forest, to send him on a wild goose chase."

I concluded, a big smile splitting my face as I imagined the expression on that monster's face the moment he found a bloody piece of dress instead of his bride.

"I can't deny it's a splendid idea Sansa, but we don't have the time to plant false trails. It's just us two and I can't leave you alone even for a moment."

Jon replied condescendingly, dismissing my idea as he put a kettle over the fire.

"No Jon, there are three of us now! Ghost can drop bloody rags from my dress and chemise all over the forest whilst he hunts. He listens to you, doesn't he?"

He forgot the kettle with the food momentarily, looking up at me with a mischievous, crooked smile, mirth clear in his eyes.

"Of course he does, but I can do something even better, I can get inside Ghost's skin and tell him exactly where to put them. Sansa you are a genious!"

He exclaimed, while I stood there, looking at him with my mouth gaping open, absolutely flabbergasted.

 _Jon just admitted that he is a warg. My brother is a warg…_

I kept thinking in my head over and over again. When Jon spotted my expression, his smile fell and a sour look replaced it.

"I liked to think that all of us were like that, but that was not the case, was it? I guess you can add that to the pile of things that make me an outsider. Don't worry though. I won't come eat you in the middle of the night."

He said as he tore his fiery eyes from mine, his attention back to the kettle on the fire.

"The stew is ready."

He informed me after some time, as he served it in two bowls and started eating. After my initial surprise and disbelief ebbed, I felt bad for my reaction. He trusted me with this information and I had offended him…

 _Now I ruined everything! Why did I have to look at him like that? So what if he is a warg? He is still Jon. It doesn't matter… and the Lannisters used to say the same thing about Robb._

I got up from the rock and approached him, stopping only when I was standing right behind him. I saw his shoulders stiffen at my closeness, but he made no move to turn around. I wanted to touch him, to reassure him, but I was afraid he wouldn't want me to, so I kept my hands to myself and sat right next to him.

"Forgive me… I didn't mean to offend you Jon. I was just taken aback, that's all. I may have been awful to you in the past, but that is not me anymore. You are my brother Jon, my only family. You are not an outsider."

 _Just please don't be mad at me!_

I pleaded him in my mind and I realized I had my ungloved hand on his shoulder after all, feeling his warmth trough all the layers of clothing. His tense muscles relaxed under my touch and a sigh escaped him, turning into a cloud of mist before him in the frosty air.

"I didn't mean to get angry… It's just… even the wildlings treated me like an outsider for being a warg. And you looked at me like you used to… before all this… I thought we would go back to being the way we were as children…"

He said, his voice trailing off at the end. I took my hand off his shoulder and used it to take off my other glove. I lifted the stew with both my hands, letting it chase away the cold that had settled there.

"I know what it's like to be an outsider Jon. I've been there and I will never again treat you as such."

I told him as I felt the steam of the stew warm my face. I heard him snort beside me.

"Of course you have princess."

He scoffed, making me angry. He had no idea what I had to do to survive in King's Landing, he didn't know what I had to undergo in the Eyrie and at best he had just a very sketchy idea of what Ramsay Bolton did to me.

"Don't presume you have the faintest idea of what I've been through. Ramsay Snow was just my latest tormentor. You know nothing about me, or what I had to do in order to survive Jon Snow."

I replied icily, bitterness clear in my voice. I chose not to look at him. I concentrated on the stew. It was warm, but tasted like nothing. Maybe it was because Jon was a terrible cook; maybe it was because of my sour mood. At least it warmed my belly, so I kept on eating until I could stomach no more.

 _Still it's too little. I should be eating more, but I can't. Not yet…_

I thought to myself as I looked into the remains of the stew in the bowl.

It looked like the cat ate Jon's tongue. He made no further comment after that, eating quietly his food. After a while I couldn't resist any longer; I looked his way through the tresses of my hair.

 _Here we go again with the brooding…_

I thought to myself. Just as I thought we were getting along, one of us said something and suddenly we were on each other's throats.

 _We both have too many skeletons in our closets…How I wish things were simpler. How I wish we could go back._

I wished with all my heart, but I knew it was not possible.

 _There is no going back now, only forwards. And we have to do it together if we want to survive._

I concluded, turning to my right, where Jon sat, to apologize to him. Jon though was already standing and was offering me his hand to help me up. I placed mine inside it and stood in front of him, looking up to gaze upon his intense grey eyes.

I palmed his bearded cheek in my bare hand and his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry."

He said hoarsely, as he opened his eyes, locking his intense gaze with mine.

"I'm sorry too Jon. I don't want us to fight."

I confessed and he sighed squeezing my hand, which was still inside his own. I let my hand fall from his cheek and it looked like all the anger had drained out of him.

"Neither do I… but Sansa, there are so many things we don't know about each other. So many secrets, so much suffering… enough to last a hundred lifetimes. And all of that has changed us…"

Jon said gently, hitting bulls-eye. I swallowed a hard lump that had formed in my throat and forced myself to continue looking into his grey eyes that looked so much like father's.

"But we are family and we need to trust each other. To stay together. United. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Jon said, repeating father's words.

 _He is right. I have to make a leap of faith and open up. I don't have to start from the awful things that happened. I could share something small and go on from there._

I thought and smiled at him. It was not a forced, fake smile, nor a polite one; it was a big heartfelt smile that came from the heart.

"I was a bastard before I came to Winterfell."

I blurted out, before I lost my courage.

Jon was gawking at me, as if I just grew a second head on my shoulders.

His expression was so priceless I had to stifle a laugh that threatened to erupt from my chest.

"Is that supposed to be a jest of some kind?"

He inquired knitting his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes, trying to understand what I meant with that.

"No it's not! I'm serious. After Joffrey's murder, Petyr Baelish smuggled me to the Eyrie, where I dyed my hair brown and pretended to be his natural daughter, Alayne Stone, who had been raised by the Faith."

I confessed with a half smile, feeling a little lighter after I shared something of my past with Jon. It may not have been much, but it was a good start.

"Oh the ironies of life… The Lady of Winterfell became a bastard at the Eyrie and the Bastard of Winterfell became a Lord on the Wall…"

Jon remarked in a dry tone that reminded me very much of my first husband, the Imp.

"So, how was it like on the Wall Jon? I guess you made lots of friends, else you wouldn't have been elected Lord Commander."

I asked him, wanting to know more about his life, as I took our two bowls and the kettle and cleaned them with a rag.

"As a matter of fact, at first I had no friends. Everyone hated me because I knew how to wield a sword and bested them all during training. They even called me Lord Snow, to mock me because I acted like I was better than them. But then a wise man knocked some sense in me and instead of humiliating them, as he put it, I began helping them when we were training. After that I became friends with most of them."

He told me with a wistful expression on his face, like he was remembering good times that were long gone now, never to come back. While he was speaking, he went to the horses and returned with my bundle of bloody clothes. He sat back down right beside me and started to tear apart my dress and then my chemise and my smallclothes, keeping the bloody parts and feeding the rest to the fire. I heard him take a breath, about to continue his story.

"Then Sam came to the watch and became my best friend."

Jon said, and proceeded to tell me everything about Sam and the rest of his brothers at the Wall, as he made every trace of our fire disappear by dumping everything in the creek.

When he was done he took a deep breath and a shadow fell upon his face.

"After I became Lord Commander though, I had no time for my friends. I had so many things to do, so many responsibilities… I had to make so many hard decisions that I deemed necessary… Sending Sam away was one of the hardest things I had to do. When he left, I lost his counsel, I lost my eyes and ears amongst the other brothers and that cost me my life."

"But the thing I regret most is that I may have sent him to his death. So many things can go wrong at the Narrow Sea during winter. Pirates, krakens and… other things. But, had he stayed, they may have chosen to kill him as well, because of me… I always make the wrong choice Sansa, but there is no right choice there, only wrong ones to choose from."

He confessed to me in a hushed whisper. I was stunned. Jon appeared so vulnerable at this moment. He looked like the boy I remembered from my childhood. He wore the exact same expression as he did all the times my mother reprimanded him; mainly when he bested Rob at the yard or at their studies. In his eyes there was a mix of sadness, guilt and fear that made your stomach clench with sympathy.

"You did the best you could Jon. Don't beat yourself over things that cannot change. And I'm sure Sam is just fine. He will be at the library now, reading to forge his chain."

I assured him in a comforting tone, smiling softly at him, wanting to make him feel better. He didn't return the smile.

"Maybe he is…"

He replied solemnly and turned around, walking to where Ghost was.

He left me standing there, looking at his back and thinking of the things he said. The last part, about the wrong choices was not only about Sam. I could see it in his eyes that there were so much more he has not shared. I was not one to talk though…

My inner musings were interrupted by Jon, telling me we had to go. Ghost was nowhere in sight. Jon must have already sent him off, along with my bloody strips of clothing. I walked over to him and he helped me mount the second horse, the one with the silver-gray mane and tail, and then he mounted as well behind me. Jon led the horses north, urging them to move faster through the forest, but his mind was apparently elsewhere. Even though I couldn't see his face I knew he was brooding again, so I stayed silent and enjoyed the ride. In the little light that streamed through the trees I watched the ancient forest around me, the stillness of it and its serenity. Small patches of snow were visible here and there, where the treetops parted in the harsh winter wind. No animals could be heard with my weak human ears, but that didn't mean there weren't any. They were just hiding in the dark, scared of us.

I found myself reliving the moment on the weirwood tree with Jon. I had no words to describe the experience even in my own head… I had been absolutely terrified. Nothing good ever came whenever a man saw me naked and Jon… even though he was my brother, he was a man as well; a man who was a stranger to me. A man whose reactions were unpredictable in a different way than Ramsay's. Ramsay got aroused by touching and seeing the scars. Surely Jon wasn't like that. He couldn't be. Not the same Jon who used to let Rickon ride on his back, pretending to be his horse. Not the same Jon who used to creep into Bran's room every night to read him his favorite bedside story, even though mother forbade it…

But that boy was dead and before me stood a man. A man who wouldn't take no for an answer, judging by the determination I could see in his features. Ramsay wouldn't take no for an answer as well. I had learned the hard way that the more I struggled, the greater the punishment. So I undressed in the biting cold and tended to the wounds on my sternum, breasts and abdomen, almost not feeling the sting and burn of the rum on my flesh, as I listened to Ramsay's voice in my head…

 _"_ _I told you I would train you to be a good little whore… look at you now! Sitting here naked in the middle of the forest for your brother's pleasure… You turned out even better than I imagined. I bet he is watching you now… I know I would."_

I wanted to cry, but I stifled my tears and steeled myself, calling for Jon. When he came behind me the trembling started. He could easily hurt me. He could easily violate me like Ramsay did. I expected him to… Instead I felt him caress my skin with the cloth. It was such an alien feeling; being caressed after all this time I was bereft of it. He was gentle and attentive, his touch almost like a whisper on my skin. Still I couldn't stop the shaking. I couldn't stop waiting for the pain that never came. Even after I shed my cloak, he didn't lay a finger on me, being extremely careful not to let his fingers brush against my skin as he helped me with the bandages.

I was grateful, but also shaken. I had forgotten what it was like to be treated as a person. For years I had been regarded as nothing more than a title attached to a comely face and body. But Jon looked at me like I was a person he had to treat with respect. And that was what made my resolve to be careful around him crumble a little more. Jon had been removing the chips of my armor all day, one by one, just by being kind, selfless and gentle, but I couldn't let him dismantle it. Looks could be deceiving. I knew that now.

 _Jon would never hurt me. He is a gentleman and he treats me like a Lady._

I thought, trying to reassure myself, but the memory drowned me instead.

 _"_ _You think you are someone special, don't you? You still think you are a Lady…"_

 _Ramsay whispered in my ear softly, cruelly. I didn't answer; I knew he would hurt me no matter what I said, so I stayed silent._

 _"_ _I'll tell you what you are! You are just a whore I bought from a brothel keeper to do as I please with. Littlefinger wrote me that he had Ned Stark's daughter, who was said to be a maid of unmatched beauty. He claimed that you would make an obedient wife, and that if I wanted you I had to pay quite a hefty price. I can't deny you are quite pretty, but for a whore you are too unwilling… I will teach you though; I will train you, until you remember what you are."_

 _He promised as he unsheathed his dagger with a crazy glint in his eyes._

 _"_ _This will help you remember."_

 _He said in a solemn voice as the knife broke my skin._

I returned to the reality of the forest with a shudder, willing my dark thoughts to recede at the back of my mind. As the hours passed, the shadows had deepened inside the Wolfswood, so I could no longer see the beauty of the forest around me and only dark shapes where visible where the tree trunks were. It was also much colder, even though I thought it impossible, and our breaths steamed in small puffs of mist before us.

 _We will soon make a stop for the night._

I thought, dreading the dreams that would come, as soon as I slept. I had no choice though… I couldn't avoid sleeping, no more than I could stop the nightmares that plagued me.

Soon enough Jon stopped the horses and dismounted, helping me down as well. As my feet touched the ground I staggered and would have fallen if Jon hadn't steadied me.

"Thank you."

I told him, breaking the silence that lasted our whole ride. I thought I saw him smile in the dark, but I wasn't sure.

"I'll go get some wood for a fire. You just stay here by the horses, and yell if anything happens. I won't go far."

Jon assured me as he walked away and I was alone again, in the darkness. As a child I was never afraid of the dark, but now, as a woman grown I was terrified of it. _He_ always came in the dark. And tonight, even though he was miles away, he would still come in my nightmares. I caught myself worrying my lower lip with my teeth and stopped doing it immediately. I picked up that nervous habit in King's Landing and since then I couldn't seem to shake it off.

Soon Jon came back and started a small fire, putting on the kettle again to cook something.

I abandoned my spot near the horses and sat beside him in front of the fire. I immediately felt its warmth on my cold cheeks and took off my gloves to warm my fingers as well. From afar, Jon seemed to be watching the food, but now that I was so near, I could see that his eyes were gazing into the flames, for what, I would never know.

"Jon?"

I whispered, requesting his attention. He turned to me, looking in my eyes, leaning his head a little to the right in question.

"After we go to the Gift, what are we going to do?"

I asked him, truly curious about it for the first time today.

"That is something for you to decide Sansa… I wanted to take you south and then somewhere in the Free Cities, to hide in a place where nobody would find us ever again. I would forget about revenge on the Boltons, the Lannisters and everyone else, just to keep you safe. But then, as we were leaving your room, you said you wanted to take everything from him, make him suffer and then kill him. You yearned for revenge and I would never take that away from you. So I changed the plan on the spot and headed north."

As he finished explaining, I stood there looking at him dumbfounded.

 _Jon changed his whole plan for me and I didn't even ask for it… And he claims he did it just to make me happy… Saying I was not expecting that kind of answer would be an understatement._

For the past three years nobody cared about what I wanted, and certainly no one went out of their way to make me happy. Actually quite the opposite happened really… Even Littlefinger, who saved me from King's Landing, did it for his own selfish reasons.

 _I was a foolish little girl to trust him, but no more. Littlefinger is a man without honor, a man that whispers false promises in your ear and offers sweet gifts that turn to ash and poison in your mouth._

 _But Jon… Jon is not like that. I can see no deception in his words, no selfishness in his actions. Jon is honorable, protective and kind like father. But he also has a sensitive streak inside him and an affinity for self-sacrifice and empathy that I've never encountered before… Jon is probably the only man I could ever bring myself to trust._

I thought to myself, remembering all those times I had watched Jon hold Arya as she cried and all the times I had watched him defend Hodor to Theon… I refocused on the present, realizing Jon waited for a reply. I took a deep breath to reply, but I realized there was a tightening in my chest and a lump in my throat. I tried to clear it with a small cough and looked deep inside Jon's grey eyes that reflected the fire.

"But that's… I don't…"

I started, not knowing what to say, as my mind still swarmed with strange emotions and thoughts. I had to get it together though; I had to thank him properly.

"I mean, thank you Jon. Thank you for giving me the chance to get justice for what has been done to me and our family."

I told him sincerely, meaning every word.

"Did you know that Roose Bolton was the one to betray Robb at the Twins? He was the one to plunge the dagger into his heart."

I told Jon, hate dripping from my voice like vile poison.

"How do you know that? And if it is known, why did nobody in the North retaliate?"

Jon exclaimed in exasperation and shock.

"I don't think the North knows… I only know it because Ramsay loved to tell me the story every time he…"

I cut my explanation short, not wanting Jon to know. I got carried away by my hate for them and forgot to measure my words.

 _I have to be more careful from now on. Jon mustn't know._

"Every time he did what Sansa?"

Jon asked with a deceptively calm voice. But I knew men now. I could see the anger inside their eyes, barely restrained, waiting to be unleashed with the slightest provocation. And Jon now was furious. Fear gripped my heart and I froze in place. My heart was pounding in my ears like a drum and I couldn't breathe; there was no air. Through the drumming of my heart I could hear Jon's voice, but it was distant, like he was far away and the flames in front of me looked strange; unreal.

 _I'm going crazy! Not that again! Stop it! Stop it… I can't!_

I kept thinking throughout the episode. Soon it passed, leaving me as shaken as every other time. Now I could hear Jon's voice clearly, saying "You're safe now. He can't hurt you." over and over again, like a mantra in my ear, as he rubbed my back. Somehow I was nested in his arms and my face was planted on his shoulder.

I stayed there like that, unmoving, taking in his scent that reminded me of home, letting him soothe me with his embrace and his words.

 _Why did it have to happen with Jon? It only happened with Ramsay before. I didn't want him to see me like that. I didn't want him to see how weak and broken I had become. I just want to be normal again!_

I thought, wishing for the impossible… Nothing would ever be normal again. The only thing I could do was pretend. I let a sigh past my lips and pulled away from Jon's embrace. He didn't stop me, as I half expected, but let me go. He turned his attention to the food that had already boiled and was probably ready. He handed me a bowl full of broth and we ate in silence. I wasn't hungry and, after the incident, my stomach churned in the idea of food, but I had to eat. I pushed myself and managed to down half of it, even though it was completely unappetizing. At least it was hot and that helped a great deal. I was so full, I was on the verge of retching, but I closed my eyes and waited for the feeling to pass. My stomach would eventually grow accustomed to the food, but I still had a long way to go until that day came.

"Has anyone told you what a terrible cook you are?"

I asked him, with my eyes still closed. He started laughing then, as if I told him a joke. I opened my eyes and watched him laugh beside me. I had never seen Jon laugh like that up close. He looked so happy and carefree… it was a stark contrast from his usual solemn expression. And his laughter was warm and hearty, with an almost musical quality to its huskiness. It wasn't fake, cruel or mocking. Instead it compelled me to laugh along with him and share his merriment. I only managed a small smile though, before he stopped with a low chuckle.

"Well… I was the Lord Commander, not the bloody cook."

He said with a smile still on his lips.

"I guess you're right… I would volunteer prepare our meals, but I have even less cooking skills than you, so I guess you are our best chance here."

I confessed, feeling embarrassed by my uselessness.

 _What good is stitching, singing and playing the high harp out in the woods? I'm such a stupid little girl. I should have died a long time ago… Robb, Arya and Bran were all fighters, survivors; yet here I am alive and they are dead. How is that even possible?_

I thought as I gazed in the fire. Jon brought me out of my grim thoughts by calling my name. I looked behind me, where I heard his voice come from and saw him clutching a bundle of furs.

"Time to sleep. We have a long way ahead of us tomorrow."

He said as he approached me, his feet silenced by the thick layer of humus on the ground. Together we prepared our furs for the night by the fire. We were far enough from each other not to bump as we slept, but close enough to touch if I extended my arm. We bundled inside and said our goodnights, but I didn't want to sleep, even though I was dead tired. Sleeping meant dreams, and the only dreams I had were nightmares full of pain and blood. Jon may have taken me away from Winterfell, but _he_ was part of me now.

 _He will still come for me tonight._

I thought to myself, as my consciousness ebbed… Sleep had won yet again. That was my last thought before my mind went into a free fall.


	4. Chapter 4

**JON**

I woke up with a start, my mind on high alert. I immediately grabbed Longclaw and jumped out of my furs and into the biting cold of the night, waiting to hear again the sound that woke me up in the first place. I started circling around Sansa's sleeping form with footsteps silent as Ghost's, checking every inch of the forest around us. The fire had burned out hours ago and in its place were now only ash end embers.

 _Damn it! I shouldn't have sent Ghost south… Did they find us?_

I thought, regretting my decision and waiting for the sound that was out of place to be heard again.

A cry of anguish tore the silence of the Wolfswood… Sansa's cry. With a last look around, I kneeled beside her and let Longclaw fall on the forest floor. I couldn't see her face in the darkness, but I knew she was having a nightmare again. I wanted to comfort her, to help her… my fingertips touched her soft cheek and then cupped it in my palm, caressing her cheekbone with my thumb.

 _She is so warm, so soft and delicate… how could anyone want to hurt her?_

I thought to myself, as my other hand caressed her soft hair.

"Shhhh… you're safe now. I'll protect you Sansa, you're safe…"

I whispered to her, as I continued stroking her hair and cheek. After a while she stopped whimpering and she lay still, sleeping soundly once again and I unwillingly tore my hands away from her, walking back to my furs to sleep a little more. I didn't want to leave her to face her nightmares alone, but I could do nothing to help her either. I felt so utterly useless…

As I lay there, waiting for sleep to take me, I could see her face behind my eyelids, looking at me with those sapphire eyes that held so many secrets…

 _I want to know every one of them. I want her to trust me, to let me help her…_

I thought, with a strange ache in my chest. I had no chance though to question that feeling, as my thoughts became muddled and sleep reclaimed me, with the image of Sansa still imprinted on my mind.

* * *

The next time I woke, I opened my eyes to the dense canopy of leaves and branches over me. Dawn had arrived and some weak rays of sunlight had made it into the forest, lightening the shadows and allowing me to see again. I stretched my sore muscles under the furs, groaning at my aches. Even after a fortnight, I still couldn't get used to sleeping on the hard forest floor with my leathers on. It was uncomfortable, to put mildly, but it was measure born out of necessity, not comfort.

I got up at once, fixing my gaze on Sansa, who still slept inside her furs. I washed my face with some half-frozen water and drank some of it as well, rinsing my dry mouth before saddling the horses and packing my furs. When everything was ready I walked over to Sansa, kneeling once more beside her to wake her up. I remembered the softness of her skin under my palm and the silkiness of her hair from last night and I ached to feel them again.

I clenched my fists tight and kept my hands to myself, ashamed of my thoughts and angry at myself for thinking such things.

 _This has to stop now. This is so fucking wrong…_

I thought to myself and shook my head to clear it from the unwanted thoughts.

"Sansa, wake up. It's morning already; we have to get on our way."

I told her softly, my voice still raspy from sleep. I saw her stir a little and wrinkle her small nose. I felt my lips quirk upwards into a smile at her small twitch, a smile that broadened when she opened her eyes and focused them on my face.

"Jon…"

Sansa whispered in a strained and hoarse voice.

 _Something's wrong._

I thought and just like that the smile fell off my lips. I watched her more carefully and noticed that her eyes were glassy, her cheeks were too rosy and she was shivering. I placed my palm on her forehead, to check her temperature and I was horrified at how warm she was.

 _Seven Hells! We are still too far south… I have to take her to a Maester as fast as possible. She is too weak and malnourished. She will surely die of fever, if she remains out in the cold. She needs a warm bed and a Maester's potions and, out here, I have none of these things._

I thought with desperation as my mind reeled with a thousand scenarios.

 _We could ride non-stop for two days and nights to reach Deepwood Motte, but I have no idea whether the Glovers have sworn fealty to the Boltons._

 _The same could be said about the Tallhart's and also we are too far north now to turn back to Torrhen's Square._

 _I guess we could get out in the King's Road and run for four days and nights to the Gift, but the blizzard is still going strong and the horses will die long before we get there. No! Think! Think damn it!_

My brainstorming was interrupted by Sansa's cough. It was a small dry cough, but I knew that soon enough it would turn to a hacking one if we didn't find shelter.

"Jon, I feel sick."

She whispered apologetically and she stirred, trying to get up. I put my right hand on her shoulder, above the furs, stopping her from moving until I had a solid plan.

"I know… we have to take you somewhere warm, somewhere with a Maester to bring down your fever and heal your wounds. Don't get up yet… Just let me think first."

I told her softly, returning back to my thoughts. Suddenly it came to me. The best possible course of action. I had to ask Sansa though… She was there. She surely knew.

"Sansa, did the mountain clans swear fealty to the Boltons? Were they invited to the wedding?"

I inquired, looking at her face that was deep in thought, trying to remember.

"I don't think Roose Bolton deemed them important enough to invite them to the wedding… none of them was there. I don't know whether they have declared for him, but I don't believe they have, not after the Boltons disregarded them like that. Most of the great Houses did it out of necessity and fear, not out of love."

She explained in a quiet and raspy voice and I nodded in understanding.

"Ok then, that settles it. We're going to the Wull. He would never refuse to help the Ned's daughter."

I told her, sounding much more confident than I really was.

 _Gods help me, I will do everything I can think of to convince him. My honor, my dignity, even my life be damned. What really matters is her safety._

I thought as I gave her my hand and helped her up carefully, keeping her bundled inside the sleeping furs to keep out the frost. I walked her over to the horses, supporting her weight and helped her mount. Yesterday I thought that maybe today she would be able to ride by herself, but she had gotten worse during the night, so I mounted behind her and kicked the horse forward, the second one following close behind.

* * *

It's been two days and two nights since I last slept and I was on the verge of collapsing. Sansa still burned from fever and was unconscious most of the time. She barely ate the cold hard food we had and I had to coerce her into drinking some of the freezing water that gnawed at her sore throat. I could no longer feel my legs and my mind begged me for sleep, but I couldn't sleep now, I had to keep on going. Sansa was getting worse by the hour. I knew we were almost there. We had emerged from the Wolfswood sometime into the night and entered a path that lead into the northern mountains, which was covered with a thick layer of pristine snow. It was morning now and the blizzard was still going strong, but the mountains shielded us from the biting wind that came howling from the north and from some of the snow as well.

 _By midday we'll be there. Just a few more hours, and then I'll sleep._

I assured myself, rubbing my tired eyes in an effort to keep them open. On top of everything, Ghost has not returned yet and I had no idea where he was. I knew he was alive and well and somewhere in the Wolfswood, but a wolf's perspective is much different from a man's, and the few times I got inside his mind I saw only trees.

I was riding, following the winding path, but it felt like a dream… I jerked my head up suddenly, realizing I had fallen asleep on the saddle with my eyes still open… I bit the inside of my cheek hard, drawing blood, the pain waking me up.

It was a good call. From then on the path became treacherous and slick with ice, demanding great caution. A few hours later that seemed like eons, the path became wider again and I saw the Bay of Ice to my left.

 _We are getting closer. Just a little more…_

I kept on thinking as the horses walked along the icy trail, wishing I was a raven. That way I would be able to fly straight to the Wull's Hall. Alas, I was not, and neither was Sansa…

It was midday when I saw the first house. It was small, just a hovel really, completely covered in snow. It looked abandoned, but I knew more houses lay ahead, and at the end of the road was the Wull's Keep. Relief flooded my system and I urged the horses to run faster. Inside the village, the path was almost clear of snow, probably having been shoveled recently. No people were visible, but all the chimneys had smoke coming out of them. They were all in the warmth of their homes, enjoying their food and their fire.

In a few minutes I found myself in front of the gates. The southern wall wasn't even half the height of that in Winterfell, but the Keep was nested inside a burrow in the mountains, and it was protected from all other sides with a hundred feet of stone encompassed in ice and snow.

"Who goes there?"

A voice rang out from atop the battlements.

"Jon Snow, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and Lady Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. We request an audience with the Wull."

I shouted, making my voice deep and commanding, not wanting them to see how tired I was. There was no answer from the guard, so we kept on waiting outside. Sansa was shivering again, and she wheezed with every breath she took. I was about to fall off my horse from exhaustion when I heard the frozen iron hinges protest as the gate opened from within. I led the horses inside and in front of me there was a young boy, no older than Bran would have been if he were still alive, holding a long sword. He had the northern look about him, with dark hair, fair skin and clear blue eyes, the color of the sky.

"Jon Snow is dead and there is no Lady Stark, she is Lady Bolton now… so, tell me who you really are strangers and show me your faces. Maybe then I will tell the guards on the wall not to make you arrow fodder."

The boy threatened me with a childish voice and a scowl on his face. If I wasn't half dead from exhaustion, it would have made me laugh. Instead I detached my hands from the reins with great effort, bringing them to my hood and lowering it in order for the boy to see my face. I did the same with Sansa's hood for only a moment, before I put it back in place.

"As I said, I am Jon Snow and this is Lady Stark. Now take us to the Wull boy. The lady needs a Maester and a warm bed immediately."

I told him, using the Lord Commander's voice once more. In my half-asleep mind though, it was like father had spoken through me. The boy was looking at us like we were ghosts, and I suppose, to him we were, but in a moment he regained his composure, sheathed the sword that was too big for him and asked us to follow him, as he started running towards the Hall.

 _We're here… just a few more moments and then I shall sleep. Gods please show me the right words to persuade the Wull to help us._

I prayed as I followed the boy, crossing the yard through the snowy paths the clansmen had dug. Soon enough we were in front of the door of the Hall and I shook Sansa's shoulder, urging her to wake up. I felt her stir and then she coughed. It was an awful wet sound that resonated from deep within her. I dismounted with great care, afraid my legs wouldn't obey me. Surprisingly I didn't fall down, even though I couldn't feel my legs at all. I put my hands around Sansa's waist above all the furs and lifted her off the horse. She must have weighted even less than she did the night I took her from Winterfell, but my arms were so heavy from exhaustion and sore from riding, it seemed to me like she weighted twenty stone. I let her lean on me though, bearing most of her weight as we entered the Wull's Hall.

Sansa and I walked over to the other end of the Hall, where the Wull sat on his great wooden seat, waiting for us. He indeed had a very big belly, but he had a height to match. His long hair and beard had more salt than pepper in them and his eyes were the same color as the boy's, a clear blue that held distrust in them. I lowered both our hoods and did my best to remain standing, while supporting Sansa as well.

"Lord Hugo Wull, or rather, the Wull, I'm−"

I started, but was interrupted by the Wull's booming voice.

"I'm not a blind man Lord Snow, or is it just Jon Snow now? We heard tales that you died, but it seems you are very much alive. You have the Ned's look lad, and the young lady beside you is the spitting image of the late Lady Stark."

"Pray, what brings a deserter of the Night's Watch and the Lady Bolton to my Keep?"

He asked, piercing me with his gaze that was full of suspicion. I felt as if he was trying to read the answers directly from my mind.

"We are here to request your hospitality. We're on the run from the Bolton's Bastard and Lady Stark has fallen ill along the way. She needs a Maester immediately."

I explained to him, my mind half-asleep already now that we were in the warmth of the hall. The Wull then seemed to notice Sansa's state, his eyes alarmed and concerned.

"Take the Lady to the Maester and have your sisters prepare a room for her."

The Wull commanded a guard that stood behind me, and the man swiftly took Sansa from my hands, guiding her to a door on the right. I felt such relief, like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest.

 _Thank the gods! She'll be fine! They will take care of her!_

I thought, but my thoughts were interrupted by Big-Bucket's voice.

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't send Lady Bolton back to her husband boy."

Big-Bucket Wull demanded and I shook my head to clear it from the fog that had muddled my thoughts. I straightened my back and locked my gaze with his, my mind suddenly clear from the shock of what the man said.

"Because you are a Northman and you would never send her back to the bastard son of the man who betrayed and killed the King in the North! Do you think she agreed to the marriage without coercion? Do you think a highborn maid would ever willingly marry a bastard?"

"And I also know you won't deliver her to the Boltons, because the Ned, our father, was your friend. You would never send his daughter back to that monster, not after everything he did to her!"

I told him loud and clear for the entire Hall to hear. His bearded face betrayed no emotions, but his eyes did. They shifted from distrust, to shock, to anger and finally to resolve.

"Explain yourself, Jon Snow. How can a bastard on the Wall claim to know that Roose Bolton is the one who killed the King in the North? I may despise the man, but the whole realm knows the Freys were the ones to do it. They killed my firstborn son Rickard and my nephew Ethan as well at the Red Wedding… they didn't even send me their bones to burry, those sons of whores. Others take them!"

The Wull cursed his eyes full of hate.

"I do not claim to know anything my Lord. I simply tell you the things my sister told me the first day of our escape, before she fell ill with fever. I do not know the details. She did not wish to elaborate, but, from what I made of it, the Bolton's Bastard loved to repeat the whole story to Lady Sansa with great detail. You can ask her when she wakes."

I explained, speaking the truth as loudly and clearly as I could, begging for my clarity to last a little longer.

"I see… The Lady Stark is welcome in my Keep, for as long as she wishes to stay."

The Wull announced sincerely and relief flooded my brain once again.

"Thank you my lord, we will forever be indebted to−"

I started thanking him, but he interrupted me yet again.

"I can't say the same for you lad. You abandoned your watch… Ours is the old way. I will have to take your head."

He said determined and I remember that day, so long ago… it had been late summer and father had taken Robb, Theon, Bran and I to the execution of a deserter. It was Bran's first and last execution. It was the day we found the wolf pups. It was the day everything changed…

 _No, no, focus! I'm not a deserter. At least I have to make an effort for Sansa._

I thought, tearing myself away from the memory and gathering my thoughts.

"My lord, I am no deserter. The rumors you heard about my death were true. My sworn brothers murdered me a moon past and I was brought back to life the next day by Stannis' Red Priestess."

I confessed in a grave tone, as I looked inside his eyes.

"When I took the black I swore before the gods that my watch would not end until my death, but now it has ended and I am free of my vows. Do as you like with me though, I will not stop you if you wish to take my life. I'm living on borrowed time anyway. Maybe now that I saved my sister there is nothing left for me to do in this life."

I continued, meaning every single word.

 _If the gods will it, I will rest, at last. I will become one with Ghost again and together we will protect Sansa._

I thought and my mind filled with serenity at the prospect of a simpler life.

"Have you gone mad lad? Dead is dead."

He exclaimed, obviously disturbed by my words; disbelieving.

"I can show you the Wull, that dead no longer stays dead…"

I started, while I removed my cloak, letting it pool on the floor.

"Beyond the Wall the dead rise again and come to kill you in your sleep as wights."

I continued as I let my leathers fall on top of my cloak.

"The Others are coming my lord and they bring Winter and death with them. But I have been granted a second life to fight for the living."

I finished, as I took off my tunic and stood before the Wull bare-chested, showing him the stab wounds that would never heal properly. The wounds themselves were an awful dark brown color, bordering on black and around them blue bruises had bloomed in the shape of the hilts, as the daggers had bottomed out on my skin from the force of my murderers. I didn't have to look to know what was there. Instead I kept my eyes on Big-Bucket, who abruptly got up. The man must have lived through many a winter, yet he was shocked beyond words.

"By the gods…"

He whispered, not believing in his own eyes.

I waited for him to wrap his mind around the image before him and to process what I told him about the Others and the army of the dead that comes from Beyond the Wall. A moment later the old man regained his composure and sat heavily on his seat that creaked under his weight. Big-Bucket released a long sigh and looked somewhere behind me.

"Give the lad some bread, salt and ale."

Big-Bucket ordered someone, and soon enough they passed me a tray with bread, cheese and a flagon of ale.

 _He is offering me guest right. At least I will live to see the dawn._

I thought to myself as I ate everything, just now realizing how hungry I was. I only drank a small sip of ale though; my mind was murky enough without it.

"And now take him to a room to sleep, and stand guard outside his door."

The Wull said to that person behind me and then turned to me.

"When you wake there will be a bath and a warm meal prepared for you. And when you have rested and eaten we will talk some more Jon Snow. I hope by then the Lady Stark will be feeling better as well, in order to join our talk."

He told me and I bowed to him in thanks. Then I let the guard guide me to a room, not even remembering how we got there. I removed my boots, my leggings and my pants and fell naked under the furs, falling asleep before my head touched the pillow.

* * *

I found myself walking aimlessly inside the Keep again. It was the hour of the eel, but sleep evaded me yet again. The last eight days had drained me emotionally and physically. The three days of our escape were undoubtedly the most tiresome, but those five days I have spent in the Wull's Keep were challenging as well. I spent my time at the Keep by talking for hours each night with Hugo Wull and train for hours each day with the clansmen in the yard. Sansa was recovering, slowly but steadily. Her fever finally dropped yesterday and her wounds were healing nicely. Maester Derron did not give her milk of the poppy today and he claimed she would wake before dawn. I had not visited her chambers again after that first time, not when _it_ could happen again…

On our first night here I searched the whole Keep during the hour of the wolf, looking for her room, worried sick that something bad may have happened to her while I slept. I remember how easily I spotted her room, by the two Northmen standing guard outside the door. They had been big bearded men, clad in steel and leather and armed with great swords. As I approached them I remember wondering whether I could best them both in a fight if it came to it, but quickly dismissed the idea.

"Good evening."

I said in greeting as I saw them grasp the hilts of their swords.

"I wish to check upon my sister's health. May I enter?"

I asked them, wondering if maybe it would have been wiser to ask the Wull's permission first. The two guards shared a look and then the one in the left had grunted in approval, opening the door and stepping aside for me to enter. The other one had followed me inside the spacious room with his hand still on the hilt of his sword. I paid him no mind and approached the bed. Sansa had been nested between the furs with her auburn hair splayed on the white pillow. She had looked so peaceful in her sleep as her chest moved softly with every breath she took. That awful wheezing sound she had been making before had significantly diminished and she her shivering had stopped.

 _Gods she is so beautiful, so utterly perfect…_

I remember thinking and my right hand had moved as if on its own, hovering above her soft cheek, needing to touch her…

 _Just to see if she is ok… just to check whether she has a fever…_

My mind had assured me, but I knew they were lies and excuses… all of them.

 _Don't you dare touch her, you bloody bastard!_

I remember warning myself, as I turned on my heel and fled out of the room like a bat out of hell.

The worst part was that, no matter how much I avoided her, no matter how much I tried to distract myself by staying busy, I could not get her out of my head.

 _I have to see her… I have to make sure she is all right… I need to touch her, feel her…_

Those thoughts invaded my mind during all hours of the day, getting stronger as each day passed. Worry was weighing my mind, as longing burned inside my chest like an inferno. And guilt was never far behind… guilt for those thoughts I had for her and then more guilt for not visiting her. I wanted to, but not for the right reasons, or at least not entirely for the right reasons…

 _The gods play cruel games if they brought me back to life in order for me to develop such abominable feelings towards my sister._

I thought to myself, full of self-loathing. I wanted to bury them and never think of them ever again. She was my sister by blood, but we never had brotherly affection towards each other and we didn't even grow up as siblings. Lady Stark made sure of it from the moment she gave birth to her. The bastard was to have no relations at all to her beautiful trueborn daughter. Maybe that was the reason for this madness that had seized my mind. My only consolation was that I my treacherous mind had the decency not to think of her in a sexual way. At least, not as of yet…

 _No matter… I will learn to ignore it. In time I will see her as my sister, the same way I view Arya. It will fade and go away._

I thought trying to convince myself, remembering my resolve to squash those thoughts and think of her as my sister before she woke. Each night though, I found myself further away from my target. This pursuit only succeeded in making me suffer. I was punishing myself, and only the gods knew how much I deserved it.

A scream tore the silence of the night, interrupting my musings.

 _Sansa!_

Was my only thought and I ran up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. When I reached the door of her chambers the guards were still looking at each other, perplexed. That only meant that nobody had entered through the door. I shoved them aside and barged in the room, sword in hand.

 _There's nobody here._

I realized with a start; well nobody save for Sansa who was awake and crying on the bed. She raised her head from her hands and looked at me in surprise and shock; tears still streaming down her face.

 _She was just having a nightmare… I shouldn't have come…_

I thought, remembering my resolve to stay away from her.

"I'm sorry for intruding… I just thought… you screamed in your sleep and I… I'll just go now…"

I mumbled, at a loss for words. I was not expecting to find her here alone and that completely spun me off my axis. I had to go before I did something stupid. I was about to turn and leave when she spoke.

"Jon please… don't go. Don't leave me alone…"

She begged me with a sob and I felt something break inside me. I wanted to stay and comfort her, but I shouldn't… I couldn't leave though, not now. Not after she pleaded me to stay.

 _Gods help me… I'd do anything for her. It was a mistake coming here… I will stay, but I can't get too close. I could sit on the chair. It's close enough, yet at a respectful distance._

I thought as I gingerly approached the chair near her bed. I was about to sit when I heard her clear her throat. I looked her way and saw her stare at my boot-clad feet.

"Jon I… could you sit on the bed with me?

She mumbled shyly, her voice barely a whisper and my mind immediately filled with images of Sansa's soft back pressed on my chest on the bed, her body fitting perfectly in my embrace…

 _Stop it! She didn't mean it like that! She just wants me to comfort her as her big brother!_

I was shouting inside my head, willing the images to disappear.

"Of course… whatever you need."

I heard myself retort as I walked over to the bed and sat beside her, careful not to touch her. I tried to relax my stance, before she realized there was something wrong and forced myself to look at her face.

 _Can she see it in my eyes?_

I wondered. Half of me wanted her to see it, to shout at me, curse me and throw me out of her room, while the other half, the selfish half, wanted her to stay oblivious, just so I could bask in her presence for a little longer.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

She asked me in a small voice, drawing me out of my thoughts. I saw her dry her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown and I held back from reaching out to wipe them myself.

"It's been five days since we arrived. The Maester was giving you milk of the poppy to lessen the pain and keep you asleep, to aid your body's recovery."

I told her and saw her blue eyes fill with horror.

"Five days…? I was trapped in there with _him_ for five days?

She asked in disbelief, and tears gathered again in her eyes, threatening to spill any moment. I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant with that, when she continued.

"How could you let them do this to me Jon? I was about to go mad! I was in this never ending nightmare with no way out! I thought I dreamt our escape; I believed you never came. I wanted to die…"

She cried out as sobs wacked her body. I could no longer stay away and let her suffer. I took her in my arms and let her cry on my shoulder as I soothed her back and rocked her gently, letting her tears saturate my shirt.

"Everything is all right now. You're safe. I'm here. Nobody will ever hurt you again."

I whispered over and over in her ear. Even though I consoled her, I was brimming with guilt on the inside. I had failed her. I knew she had nightmares and I knew that the milk of the poppy would not let her wake, yet I was so self-absorbed all those days, it didn't even occur to me that this was a destructive combination.

Sometime later her crying was reduced to sniffles and hiccups, but I kept on holding her tight, because I was selfish and didn't want to let her go just yet.

 _I want to hold her in my arms forever and never let her go._

I thought wistfully, knowing deep in my heart it would never be; must never be.

"You can't protect me Jon… nobody can."

She said bitterly, pulling out of my embrace. I let her go with great effort, feeling as if I was losing a part of myself in the process.

"He tortured me. He humiliated me. He broke me! Where were you then?"

Her angry words made me wince. They were like a physical blow, like a punch in the gut…

"The things he did…"

She whispered with a faraway look, her voice trailing off. I thought she was about to tell me, but after a few moments of silence I realized that this was not the case. She was holding it all inside…

"Sansa, I'm sorry… I'm sorry I was a terrible brother. I'm sorry I came too late. I'm sorry I wasn't there… But I'm here now."

"I'm here now and I can help you, if you let me. You can't keep it inside forever. You have to unburden yourself. You can trust me. You can tell me. I promise you, you'll feel better afterwards."

I told her sincerely, as I looked into her eyes that looked so much like Lady Catelyn's…

"No… I can't… I don't want you to ever know Jon."

Her answer hurt. It hurt a lot, even though I saw it in her eyes before she uttered it. I would understand if she didn't feel ready now, or in a moon's turn, but never? I tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace, a travesty of a smile.

"I understand."

I lied.

"If you ever change your mind though, I'll be there."

I assured her, this time telling the truth. I saw her nod in agreement and a lock of auburn hair fell in her face.

 _I shouldn't…_

I thought as I moved my hand towards her face, tucking the stray lock behind her ear. I felt her shudder at my touch and I hastily pulled away. I could still feel the tips of my fingers tingle.

"I'd better go now, let you rest."

I said as I rose from the bed. I felt her soft hand trail down my arm as I rose, creating a fiery path on its way, and grasping at my palm, anchoring me in place.

"Please, don't go…"

She whispered in a heartbreaking voice. I turned around and saw her beautiful face now marred with desperation, her sapphire eyes wide and vulnerable… How could I refuse her? I had to though…

"I can't stay Sansa. It wouldn't be proper to spend the night in your chambers. People will talk. I have already stayed for too long."

I told her, begging her with my eyes to understand, to let me go.

"Nevertheless, tomorrow is going to be a long and tiresome day. We both need to rest and prepare."

I stated matter-of-factly, deliberately holding back information about tomorrow. I wanted it to be a surprise for her. Sansa let go of my hand then. I felt relieved; I felt hollow.

"I… forgive me brother. It's the milk of the poppy. I'm not myself I fear. You are right… you need your rest and I need mine."

She said, sounding way too formal. I wished I could see her face and, but she was looking away from me, towards the window.

 _Are you happy now?_

I asked myself, not liking the answer I got. I felt guilty, but it seemed like I could not escape the guilt no matter what I did.

"Good night Jon."

She whispered as she got comfortable on the bed, turning her back at me.

"Good night Sansa. Sweet dreams."

I replied and exited her bedchamber, knowing full well there would be nothing sweet about her dreams. I walked down to my own room, undressed and fell back into bed. I had no idea why I chose to go back to bed… There was no way I would ever sleep after everything that happened. There were too many thoughts and emotions flooding my brain. So I remained there, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought until dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

**SANSA**

I was sitting by the window in my chambers, watching the men train in the yard below. The Wull had requested my presence at his Hall, but I still waited for my escort, so I killed my time by watching the fight below. Snow was falling heavily, but they didn't seem to notice as they sparred. I was too high up and snowfall impeded my vision, but I could see that there were three of them. The two men with the great swords were a team, trying to best the other man for some time now, to no avail. Even from up here I could see that he was a great swordsman. He struck at them quick as lightning and slipped away from their swords at the last minute, as if he was made of water. It was almost as if he was dancing and I remembered a foolish little girl who would have swooned in order to meet that gallant knight.

 _That girl is dead and there is no such thing as gallant knights._

I reminded myself and got away from the window with a sigh, sitting back on the bed, reminiscing my morning this far.

After Jon left I tried my best to stay awake, but sleep unfortunately reclaimed me and Maester Derron woke me from my nightmare during the hour of the nightingale. The Maester was an old man, about five and sixty, with a hooked nose, a balding head and a gaunt face, but he was kind and gentle like Maester Luwin. He introduced himself and then he told me everything that had transpired since our arrival, listing me at the end all the steps of my treatment, trying to be as professional and courteous as possible considering the situation. After a small examination he left, promising me a warm bath and breakfast in bed.

Soon after, three girls showed up. One of them was bearing a tray of food, while the others carried pails full of warm water for my bath. I shuddered at the memory of Theon, _not Theon, Reek…_ bathing me in my chambers for Ramsay's visit, each afternoon. I ate the broth and some bread mechanically, as I watched them prepare my bath, not paying attention to what they said. Then I sent them away to bathe by myself. I scrubbed my skin raw, wanting to erase every trace of _him_ from my body, reopening several wounds in the process. I didn't care; I only scrubbed harder.

By the time I had finished the water was pink with blood and cold, but I still felt soiled. After I dried myself, I bandaged my wounds to the best of my ability and got dressed with a dark blue gown I found inside the closet. They had filled it with beautiful gowns of all colors and once, I would have been delighted by that fact. Now it left me indifferent. As I braided my hair, one of the girls from earlier showed up. She bowed at me giving me a piece of parchment from the Wull and asked whether she could assist me. She looked all too eager, so I accepted her help, letting her finish my braids as I read the Wull's letter. She wouldn't stop talking and I paid her no mind, not until I heard her say Jon's name. By then I had already read the letter so I started actually listening to her. The girl was smitten with Jon and, to hear her say it, every other maid in the Keep was mooning over him as well; even the Wull's maiden daughter. At that I felt… I didn't know what I felt, but it was quite an unpleasant sentiment.

 _Is this what jealousy feels like?_

I suddenly thought, recognizing at last the feeling. Even now, after so many hours I could still remember it vividly. I was jealous for some reason. I realized I wanted Jon all to myself, but I had no right to want him for myself. It was only natural that he would find a maiden to wed sooner or later. I had no claim on him and he wouldn't stay alone forever just to keep me company.

 _Of course he would. I need only ask and, kind, selfless Jon would oblige without a second thought._

But I would never rob him of his right to happiness, so I could be less miserable. So many others had sacrificed my happiness for their own gain. I would never do that to Jon.

 _Nevertheless, the jealousy is a temporary thing. It will go away soon enough. I just need some time…_

 _Some time to learn how to be Sansa again. But who is Sansa now? Does she even exist at all? Maybe that's why I feel like I need him. He's my only tie to that Sansa. My sole reminder._

I thought as somebody knocked on the door.

"You may enter."

I said, as I rose from the side of the bed. I was quite startled to see Jon behind the door. He got in, closing the door behind him. His hair was full of melting snow and the same could be said about his cloak that dripped on the floor, creating small puddles on the stone.

"Good morning Sansa. How do you feel today?"

He asked me with a small smile that showed his straight white teeth.

 _He is indeed a very handsome man. Even when he is brooding, he has that mysterious aura about him, but when he smiles he is absolutely dazzling. No wonder all the maidens are besotted with him…_

I realized and felt a blush color my cheeks.

"Good morning Jon. I'm quite well, thank you! But I believe you will soon be unwell."

I told him truthfully, as I glowered at his dripping hair. My remark left him quite perplexed, so I elaborated.

"What were you doing outside in that dismal weather for so long without your hood on?"

I asked him, truly curious and a little worried.

"Ah, yes, that… I was training with two guards in the yard. No need to worry. I've been doing it for the past five days and I feel perfectly fine."

He reassured me, but I was still stuck on the training part. Jon was the "gallant knight" I was watching from the window. For some reason I felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. I knew Jon was the best swordsman in comparison to the other boys in Winterfell. He even bested Robb… but now he was in a complete other level.

"Never mind that… I have come to discuss some very important matters before I escort you to the Hall."

He said gravely, and I returned to reality, as Winterfell's yard faded before my eyes, along with the shouts and laughs of Robb and Jon. I felt disquieted by his words and feared for the worse.

 _They will send me back to Ramsay._

I thought and tried to still my trembling hands.

"Yes of course. Please sit."

I said with a surprisingly steady voice as I sat on the bed motioning for him to sit beside me as well.

"Training in the yard was not the only thing I did the last five days."

He started, stating the obvious. I remained silent, waiting for the worse part to come.

"I had many lengthy conversations with the Wull… We talked about the state of the North, about the Wildlings, the Night's Watch and the Others that come beyond the Wall. Thankfully the man is quite astute and we were able to hatch a plan to unite the North for the coming Winter."

He continued, stopping for breath. Thus far all seemed well, but I had not heard the plan as of yet…

"Of course, there are many points missing, because we needed either your advice or your consent. We have taken certain actions and, I wanted to surprise you with it all, but today I realized it would be unwise for you to be unprepared."

Jon said with his gaze fixed on the crackling flames and I let him continue.

"I have taken the liberty to write to all the lords of the mountain clans. There's a copy of the letter right here if you wish to read it"

He said as he passed me a piece of parchment. I opened it with dread filling my stomach and started reading.

"My lords,

I am Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark and former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I believe all of you must have heard the tale of my death and some of you the rumors about me coming back to life. Both are true and I am no longer bound by my vows to the Night's Watch. I am a free man now to support my family by blood.

The North is divided. House Stark has been all but destroyed, a traitor and turncloak sits on my brother's throne and Winter almost upon us. Roose Bolton took the position of Warden of the North, in exchange for killing the King in the North. That was the Lannister's reward for the man that plunged a dagger into my brother's heart. Later, he had my sister, Sansa Stark, brought back to Winterfell, in order to marry her to his bastard son. That monster hurt her in unimaginable ways for the past four moons, while the North stood idly by, doing nothing.

I was lead to believe by my father, that the North remembers. As I am writing this letter, Lady Sansa Stark lies in a bed in the Wull's Keep bloodied, feverish, malnourished and unconscious. If the North truly remembers then you will heed my call and assemble in the Wull's Keep to swear your allegiance to House Stark once again. I may be a Snow, but Ned Stark's blood runs through my veins and that same blood calls for justice and vengeance. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and, with your aid, there will be a Stark in Winterfell once again.

Jon Snow"

By the time I was done reading I felt such relief and gratitude I started weeping. Jon not only didn't wish to send me back to Ramsay, but he wrote to all the mountain clans, calling the banners.

"Sansa? Is there something wrong with the letter?"

He inquired, his voice laced with worry as he inched his body closer to mine. His hand twitched on his lap as I took a shuddering breath to compose myself, careful not to let any of the tears fall.

"No Jon! It's perfect… absolutely perfect. I couldn't have written it better myself."

I replied sincerely after I wiped away my tears and hugged him, taking him by surprise.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

I repeated over and over again, my voice muffled by his cloak. I felt his rough hands grasp my upper arms, pushing me a little further away, just enough so he could see my face.

"Sansa, there is no need to thank me for anything."

He uttered in a hoarse voice. His dark grey eyes were staring deep inside my blue ones and his hands burned my skin where they touched me. I felt a blush creep on my cheeks once again and I lowered my gaze until it fell upon his lips.

 _He has beautiful lips. They are full and pink and they appear to be so soft… what would they taste like?_

I thought and my blush deepened.

 _That was quite inappropriate… where did that come from? Has Ramsay corrupted me this much that I now think of my brother in such a way?_

I cringed at that thought and returned back to our conversation, realizing that Jon has resumed talking, even though I was not paying attention.

"−the Wull as well, corroborating my story and informing them that he has declared for House Stark. The Liddle showed up yesterday and the Wull is positive that the rest of them will arrive today. I also sent a raven to Edd at Castle Black, asking him to send riders to the Wildling camp at the Gift. Tormund Giantsbane and the Magnar of Thenn will be waiting for us near Last Hearth, along with two thousand Wildlings."

He finished, excitement plain in his shining eyes and his deep voice. I was excited as well and elated beyond belief. Everything he said was too good to be true.

"Jon that is… I can't even believe it… We have an army!"

I exclaimed with a high pitched voice after I found my wits and my words. At my remark though, I saw his excitement wane and his normal somber expression return.

"Well, not as of yet. Thus far we have two thousand Wildlings and six hundred clansmen. The rest have not declared for us yet, and I don't even know if they will… the Norreys, the Knots and the Burleys hate the Wildlings with a passion. I have no idea how to convince them to fight together and the last time I made such an attempt, I failed most spectacularly."

He confessed as he removed his grip from my hands and used them to rub his bearded face. I could see all his insecurities resurface in fear of failure and I reached out to comfort him, rubbing his back soothingly.

"The last time, you were alone Jon. Now you have me on your side. We are a pack and together we will prevail."

I reassured him, as my mind already raced with possible ways to persuade the Clans to fight alongside the Wildlings.

 _It seems like I cannot escape the game; not even in the North… at least I've learned from the best players in the Seven Kingdoms…_

I mused, seeing in my mind's eye Littlefinger, with one of his sly grins plastered on his face and Cercei Lannister, with her poisonous green eyes staring right at me. The Wildlings and the Mountain Clans were nothing compared to those two.

"Yes, but how?"

He wondered, probably just thinking out loud.

"Jon you are a leader, but politics is not your strong suit. On the other hand, I've learned how to play the game, but I have no idea on how to inspire people to follow me… Don't you see? We complement each other."

I explained and I saw his brow furrow and his lips become a thin line.

"Do you perchance have a plan in mind then?"

He asked with a sarcastic tone, probably expecting me to say no, leaving him to handle the situation. But as it happened I already had a plan. All I had to do was give the Chiefs the thing they most wanted.

Some men want power, others want money or women, while some value most their honor and their pride. But most of them had the safety of their family as their top priority. When you know what people want, you can make them do anything for you.

"Of course I do! Your part is quite easy I believe. You will just have to be yourself and explain them why they should follow us. Then you will let me speak to drive the message home."

I told him matter-of-factly.

"I can do that… but you… I'm worried about you Sansa. Are you sure you can give a speech in front all those people? You are still… recovering."

He whispered the last part softly. I knew he meant I was recovering more mentally rather than physically. I had to do it though. Jon would never be able to play with their feelings and thoughts. Not the way I could. I needed more information though…

"I will be fine Jon. I've had worse…"

I assured him, but his expression remained pinched; worried. I ignored my own worries and focused on the plan.

"I will need you to tell me everything you know about the Wildlings though, no matter how little."

I told him and I could see that my request caught him by surprise.

"Why do you ask about the Wildlings?"

He asked, sounding guarded.

"Because it's important for my plan to work, of course!"

I exclaimed and realized I had a cryptic smile on my lips; much like Littlefinger had most of the time. My smile withered with that realization, feeling disgusted with myself for behaving like somebody so abominable. Thankfully Jon complied with my request and started telling me about the Wildlings, distracting me from my previous thoughts. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Jon knew much and more about their culture and customs.

 _If I didn't know any better I would believe he is half a Wildling himself from all that detailed information._

I thought with a smile and concentrated on the plan. It looked like the Wildlings were not that much different from the Northmen after all. I could definitely work with that… The only problem now was the fact that I didn't know any of the lords and I would have to figure them out on the spot. From what I remembered from father, they were honorable people and prideful, so money and power would not sway them.

"Well, I believe that's all I know… was it enough?"

Jon asked, curiosity still etched on his face.

"More than enough actually… How did you come to learn so much about them?"

I asked him, truly curious myself. Just like that, Jon became guarded again and I felt the muscles on his back tense under my palm. I realized I had kept my hand on his back for quite some time and I hastily removed it, letting it rest on my lap as Jon drew a deep breath. He was about to speak when a horn sounded from outside the Keep.

"I believe our esteemed guests have arrived."

He said with a smirk and jumped up abruptly. Then he offered me his hand and we hurried together to the Hall, where our bannermen awaited.

* * *

Everyone was already seated under the dais, except for the Wull, who sat on the Lord's seat, his wife who was beside him, a maid of sixteen and two children of thirteen, a boy and a girl that looked too much alike. All three were surely his children, whose names I had learned ages ago and forgotten. There were two more seats at the dais; one for me and one for Jon, right next to the Wull. As we walked towards it I could feel the eyes of the clansmen on me. The Chiefs had not come alone. There were at least twenty men accompanying each one and the Hall was packed. I felt uneasy with all those strange men looking at me.

 _Don't let them see how scared you are._

I warned myself, trying to walk straighter and hold my head up high. Soon enough we made it to the high table and took our seats, overlooking everyone in the Hall.

I remembered the last time I sat on the high table in Winterfell. It was a fortnight after the wedding. All the lords were leaving Winterfell on the morrow and Roose Bolton had a feast prepared to see them off. Everyone was eating and drinking merrily. There was laughter everywhere and dancing as well, but there was only darkness in my heart and mind. I had even worn a black dress, to fit with the despair I felt. I was in pain; everything hurt, but that didn't matter to Ramsay. He made me get up and dance several dances with him, making sure to hold me tightly enough for bruises to form on my skin. To an unsuspecting onlooker, he would appear to be a loving husband, but it was all a mummer's farce. Every lord and lady in the Great Hall knew how much of a "loving husband" Ramsay Bolton was to me, but they chose to close their eyes and ears. They chose to speak no word of it and do nothing about it. I hated their laughter, their pleasantries, their courtesies… I hated them all.

I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of Jon's seat scraping the wooden floor of the dais.

"My lords, thank you for coming. We have requested your presence here today to ask for your support. House Stark has been betrayed by the North and the South alike. From our whole family, the only person who has not yet been murdered is Sansa Stark. Even I was betrayed and murdered by my brothers of the Night's Watch, only to be brought back to life by the Red Priestess and her Lord of Light."

Jon said, as he untied the lacings of his leathers, baring his torso to the men before him. Muttered curses and disbelieving glances filled the room. I wanted to see as well, but Jon was slightly turned. I could see nothing.

 _It seems like I'm not the only one with scars here…_

I thought with bitterness. Sadness welled inside me once again. Jon never deserved that. But then again, neither did Robb, or Arya. There was no crime they had to pay for with their lives, yet all three of them perished. And Bran and Rickon were lost and probably dead as well…

"So it is true…"

A man said, breaking the silence that had settled in the Hall as Jon laced his leathers again.

"Yes it is all true, no matter how impossible it sounds. My men killed me because I brought the Wildlings south of the Wall. Those men women and children were being massacred by the Others and then their corpses were being added to the army of the dead. I have seen it with my own eyes and many of the brother's on the Wall, from Eastwatch to the Shadow Tower have seen the real enemy with their own eyes as well."

He continued and all eyes were looking at him intently. Nobody looked surprised. The tale had reached the northern mountains as it seemed.

"As I already wrote you, the Boltons sided with the Lannisters and the Freys and killed the King in the North."

Jon said in a grave voice. I stole a glance at him then. His expression was as sullen as always, but there was anger creeping beneath the surface. It was evident in his icy eyes, his clenched jaw and the hardness of his mouth.

"It takes a turncloak to spot another."

I heard a man murmur, but I didn't see him in the crowd. Jon's shoulder's stiffened and his ears got red in anger, but he ignored the comment.

"You may be the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but you have no right to slander a nobleman behind his back, bastard."

Another man said as he stood up. He was a big, bearded, bald man with a booming voice. His byrnie was rusted and patched all over, but his axe was polished black and glinting like the hot pools of Winterfell in the morning. He was not one of the Chiefs, but he surely was a son, and by his appearance, I was certain he was Morgan Liddle, or Middle Liddle, as everyone called him. I stole another glance at Jon, to see how he would react to the offense. I was stunned by his impassive expression.

"I slander nobody. I am simply speaking the truth. Ramsay Bolton told the whole story to Lady Stark, quite vividly, but the proof is right before our very eyes. Roose Bolton was present in the Red Wedding, yet he was the only Lord in attendance who still has his life and his freedom. The Greatjon and Lord Wylis Manderly are still prisoners; Lord Wendel Manderly had been killed, along with Smalljon Umber and Lady Dacey Mormont. Yet, Roose Bolton is not only alive and free, but he has been proclaimed by the Crown the Warden of the North. I believe this is proof enough to everyone."

Jon concluded as his icy eyes scanned the crowd below. All men were shocked. Jon had just amassed the facts before them and let the naked truth stare at them in the eye.

"My sister and I will march against the Boltons and take back Winerfell. We will unite the North again to fight the one true enemy that comes from the Land of Always Winter. The Wildlings have already given us their support in our cause and have offered two thousand fighting men and spearwives. Will House Stark's royal bannermen follow us?"

All the lords stood up in uproar. Jon finished his speech and sat back on his seat, but just as he had foreseen, they had not taken it well.

"Is it not enough that you infested our lands with those savages? You now want us to fight alongside with them?"

The Knott spat at Jon angrily.

All the others agreed with him and I realized it was now my time to speak. I looked at Jon's solemn face and he gave me a reassuring smile, squeezing my trembling hand under the table to show me his support. I rose from my seat and went around the table to stand before everyone. The Wull blew his horn and all the voices died. The only noise in the Hall was the crackling of the flames in the hearths. All eyes were on me, so I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I was about to do.

"My lords, I know we are asking for too much. You have all gorged on death and destruction and now we are serving you a second filling. Not only that, but we ask you to fight alongside your sworn enemies, the Wildlings, against your friends, the houses of the North."

I started softly, trying to calm their anger by showing empathy.

"Most of you view them as thieves and savages, but they are just men like you, trying to survive. We share the same blood, the blood of the First Men, we pray to the same gods, the Old Gods of the forest, we are all children of the North."

"Those men, women and children fled from their homes, running from the real enemy, the Others, and sought a new home south of the Wall. They agreed to abide by the laws of the Realm in exchange for a safe place for their children and they offered house Stark their swords when they had no obligation to do so."

My voice was vibrating with passion as I spoke and at my last remark most of the men averted their gaze from mine in shame. The Wildlings rallied to our cause and vowed to fight for house Stark and the North, while they, our sworn bannermen, needed to be coaxed in order to uphold their vows.

"On the other hand, the Boltons allied with the Lannisters and Roose Bolton killed my brother, the King in the North in the Red Wedding, thrusting a dagger into his heart. Then, I was sold like a common whore to his bastard son, to solidify their claim in the North, but none of the Great Houses raised a finger to stop this marriage from happening. All those lords and ladies stayed for a fortnight in Winterfell and some of them even slept in the Great Keep, yet nobody heard my cries for help, nobody heard my screams, nobody reacted; no one cared."

I said with a sob and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. The silence in the Hall was deafening as I raised a handkerchief to my eyes to wipe away my tears. Suddenly the room filled with hisses, gasps and even some curses. The sleeve of my dress had pooled at my elbow, showing everyone my forearm. It was purple with bruises and, at some places, there were some shallow cuts, but the marks the ropes made on my wrist were the worst. The skin there had been chaffed raw and had just started to heal. Their reaction was exactly what I had expected. I immediately lowered my hand; hiding once again my marred skin and rushed back to my seat as everyone in the Hall started murmuring.

Raising my arm was part of the mummery, but the shame and the tears were not; they came on their own. I could feel the shame rip my insides as hot tears burned my eyes.

 _I never wanted them to see, but I had to… there was no other way._

I thought as Jon took my frozen hand inside his warm, callused one, offering me some much needed comfort. Then he let my hand go and jumped on top of the table, demanding everyone's attention. The murmuring stopped and all eyes were on him.

"My lords, I know you came here today mostly out of respect for our father. I know you have been thinking of me as bastard, a turncloak, a Wildling and an oathbreaker. As for my sister, I am sure you believed her to be a girl who didn't know her place beside her rightful husband and called her Lady Bolton, using her maiden name only in mockery."

Jon said, sticking the knife in. Nobody dared deny his accusations. Some got red with anger, while others hung their heads in shame after witnessing my scars, but they let him continue.

"Aye, I am a bastard, but bastards have honor too and I have upheld mine to the best of my ability."

He said in a voice as clear and cold as ice.

"Aye, my sister is married to Ramsay Bolton, but he never treated her as a man should treat his wife, as you have seen with your own eyes and she has no love for him, or his House."

He stated heatedly as anger boiled inside him.

"Since I am half a Stark for being a bastard and Sansa is being treated as half a Stark for being a woman, then together we make one full Stark, with swords and coat of arms. House Stark has not yet perished. They say the North remembers. They also say there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I'm asking you now to pledge us your swords to serve justice. I'm asking you to help us retake our home, so Winterfell will once again have a Stark. I'm asking you now to remember. My sister and I never forgot. Now it's your turn to remember."

Jon finished his speech and went back to his seat. In the few moments he had his back turned to them his face gave away how tired and drained he was, but as soon as he sat down it was cold and unyielding like the stone faces of the Kings of Winter. I didn't want to look straight ahead, afraid of the men's reaction to our joined speech. As the sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor echoed in the Hall, I forced myself to avert my gaze from Jon's face and looked ahead, where the noise came from. Old Brandon Norrey, had risen from his seat and he was bowing at us.

"My Lord; my Lady, as you know, my clan has been fighting the Wildlings ever since the Wall was built. It has served House Stark for much longer than that though. We will not break faith today; not when there is so much at stake. House Norrey will support House Stark and avenge the Red Wedding. My sword is yours."

The old man said, getting to his knees with difficulty, thrusting his sword point in the stone floor before his face. Disbelief had rendered me speechless. I closed my eyes in reverence and I sent thanks to the Old Gods. Jon's voice pulled me from my prayer, as he thanked the man.

"Thank you my lord. House Stark will forever be indebted to your House."

I said as well with a voice that was thick with emotion. My blue eyes must have been shining with all that moisture that had gathered there and I dried them once again.

As soon as the Norrey returned to his seat, the rest of them followed, swearing their allegiance to our House and promising us their swords. It all felt like a dream and I held Jon's warm hand for dear life under the table, as proof that this was indeed real. During the whole ordeal he would trace soothing circles on my palm; his touch helping me relax and filling my chest with warmth.

 _We made it! We have an army!_

I thought and finally let myself feel triumphant for once.

* * *

I returned to my chambers that night utterly exhausted. After everyone declared for House Stark, the Wull had a large feast prepared, where the food was delicious and the ale run in abundance. I ate sparsely; my stomach still not used to eating normal portions of food and I drank nothing, always sending the cupbearers away whenever they came to fill my cup. Jon drank only one cup of ale himself, but he mingled with the men, starting conversations and laughing along with their jokes. I did nothing. I just sat on the table and nibbled at the food on my plate, too scared and ashamed to talk to anyone. I didn't want to dance with anyone, so I left before the music started. Being close to a hulking stranger would probably trigger another panic attack and I had shamed myself enough for a day. I retired to my chambers quite early, sending the handmaiden away after she lit the hearth leaving me to undress by myself.

I sat on the bed, lost in thought; too afraid to lie down, because then, sleep would take me and the nightmares would begin. I was startled by the sound of nails scraping on the wooden door. My heart started beating frantically and I broke in a cold sweat. I got up, suddenly realizing from my aching body that I had stayed in the same spot for quite a long time. The sound persisted, and the closer I got to the door, it got louder.

 _No, it's not nails; it's claws. It's Ghost!_

I realized as relief flooded me and I opened the door wide, letting the huge direwolf inside.

"When did you come here boy?"

I asked him as I scratched him behind his ears.

"Did Jon send you to my room?"

I persisted, even though I knew the wolf couldn't answer me. Ghost moved away from my touch and plopped himself on my huge bed. For some reason, as I looked into his blood red eyes, it was like he was inviting me to join him. I released a sigh in resignation and lay down beside him under the furs. His head was just next to my hand, so I stroked his soft, white fur until sleep claimed me.

* * *

I woke up sometime later during the night with my skin damp and clammy from sweat and my eyes full of tears. I could still feel the soreness in my throat from my scream and I could taste blood in my mouth. I had probably bit my tongue in my sleep. As the tears slid down my cheeks I felt something move beside me on the bed. I froze instantly, too terrified to move a muscle.

 _Did Ramsay find me?_

I thought in panic, but I immediately relaxed as a rough wet tongue licked the tears off my left cheek.

 _It's Ghost. It's only Ghost. I'm safe._

I repeated as I turned to my side to look at him. The huge direwolf was awake and he was looking at me with his unsettling red eyes that burned in the darkness like embers. It would have been a frightening image for anyone else, but to me, it only brought comfort and a feeling of absolute safety. Ghost licked the tears off my other cheek as well and then lay there, looking at me like he was waiting for something. I let my trembling hand fall on his fur and stroked it, but as I did so, I couldn't stop thinking of Lady.

I started crying in earnest then, as grief, sadness and helplessness overwhelmed me. In between sobs I told Ghost about Lady's death, about Arya who disappeared into thin air, never to be seen again; about father's death. I even told him about my greatest sin; my greatest remorse… I told him how I went to Cercei, revealing father's plan.

"I was the one who killed father; not Joffrey, not Ser Illyn Payne, only me. I served his head to Cercei in a silver platter. "

I confessed to the direwolf. The tears kept on coming and so did the horrors that happened in my life. I continued with Joffrey's public beatings and cruelty, followed by my marriage to Lord Tyrion and his kindness and then finished with Littlefinger's "kindness" that derived from lust and hunger for power. I would have told him about Ramsay as well, but the things he did were too terrible to voice in the dead of night. I cried though as I remembered them and held Ghost for dear life. He did not try to get away; on the contrary, he kept on nuzzling me, licking the tears off my cheeks with a look that screamed of sadness.

"Don't be sad for me Ghost. I'll find a way to make it. I have you now, and Jon…"

I whispered to him, stifling a big yawn. The words were for me to hear though.

 _There is still hope. I have not lost everything yet._

I thought as my eyes closed in exhaustion.

 _Rest assured my dear wife, I will remedy that._

Ramsay said mockingly in my head as I fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**JON**

"Fight me like you mean it you bastard!"

Morgan Liddle shouted at me as I met his charge with my shield.

I heard Little Liddle and Brandon Norrey laugh behind me at his comment, but I did not react at his intended insult.

His blow made me grunt as it sent a jolt up my left arm. It was the beginning of the day, yet I was exhausted. I hadn't slept a wink last night and now my body was slow, while my mind was foggy. I felt like my feet were moving through quicksand, instead of snow and my arms were heavy with exhaustion.

 _I'm not fit to fight with anyone today._

I mussed and looked for a split second at my shield, only to realize it had been reduced to splinters, even though my opponent's axe had a blunt edge.

 _I should lower my blade and call it a halt._

I thought as I let my shield fall on the ground and grasped my blunted sword with both arms. He slashed at my face, but I pulled my head back, his axe missing my helmet by a split hair.

I saw him try to hack at my shoulder and evaded his axe, but at the last moment he changed the course of his blow, hitting the side of my head with the handle. My head and helm ringed in unison from the force of his blow and in the span of three heartbeats I saw a red blur before my eyes and blood flooded my mouth. Then I was no longer in the yard, but in Sansa's chamber in Winterfell. This time Ramsay Snow was there as well, hurting her, violating her…

The next thing I saw was Morgan on the ground. He was holding my splintered shield with both arms above his head and his axe lie a few feet away. Brandon Norrey and Little Liddle were pulling me away from him from my armpits.

"That's enough Jon, he's down! He yielded!"

They kept shouting at me, as I struggled in their arms, heaving in anger.

 _It's not enough! I need more!_

I shouted in my head, but I let my sword fall on the snow. The bloodlust remained as potent as it was a moment ago and I tried to fight it, to think beyond it.

"I'm sorry Morgan. Are you hurt?"

I asked in a grumble, feeling barely sane…

 _This is the second time it happens…_

I thought through the red haze, as flashes from that first time danced before my eyes.

"By the gods lad! Remind me to never call you a bastard again."

Middle Liddle said, sounding a little shaken and out of breath in his attempt to make light of the situation.

The men let me go, and as soon as they did walked over to the Keep and into my room, giving him no reply; not even a glance. I still needed _more_ and I knew where to find it. As soon as the door was closed, I kneeled on the stone floor and my mind sought out Ghost. He was hunting, chasing a goat in the mountains. We hunted together, running close behind our pray, smelling its blood that reeked of fear. We craved to spill that same blood and feast upon the animal's warm flesh and entrails. Soon enough we caught up to it and killed it savagely.

When we finished, I returned back to my own body, shaking all over. I could still taste blood in my mouth… it was a mix of animal and human blood, which reminded me of our previous hunt.

It had been on our second night here and I still remembered it vividly. Ghost was in the Wolfswood, running after a trail of riders in the darkness. They had hounds with them as well and they moved north.

"Find them."

I urged him in and we moved together in the darkness, locating them around a fire. The man I was, recognized the Bolton armor they wore and that had sealed their fate. We leapt from between the bushes and tore the first guard's arm off his shoulder, before he even managed to get up and then threw him on the weak fire, extinguishing it. In the darkness, we attacked the second one while he fumbled for his sword, opening his belly with our claws before he had a chance to draw it, letting his entrails fall on the forest floor. The other three had been sleeping, but they woke up from the cries of pain and the barking of the dogs. They were up in a heartbeat, holding their steel swords, scanning the darkness with their weak human eyes. We made a quick work of them, tearing out their jugulars and breaking their necks with our jaws before they even had a chance to see us coming. The hounds were tied on a tree and they had been barking like mad. They appeared feral, so we killed them as well and left them there as feast for the crows.

I was lost in my thoughts, relishing in the memory of those kills in a way that no man ever should. I realized with a start that I had left my room and I was standing out in the yard. I spat on the snow, painting it red in my blood. My legs were numb from the cold and my arms were aching from the blows my opponent landed on me, but at least my head had stopped ringing. And most importantly, the bloodlust had vaporized. Suddenly a terrible realization dawned on me.

 _Gods, I would have killed him… I wanted to._

I thought, feeling shaken by that realization.

 _Am I becoming some sort of blood-thirsty monster?_

I wondered now that my head was clear. The previous time, I did not know how to abate the hunger for blood and let my anger dissipate, but this time I sought out Ghost and killed through him, feeding the beast inside.

I was confused and tired. I needed some time to myself, to think and rest, so I headed north, until I found the big wooden door on the mountain. I pushed at it and I was met with a gust of hot steam that smelled of brimstone. There was a hot spring inside the cave, so the clansmen had turned the whole cave into a bathhouse.

There were torches on the walls that gave the space a warm glow and benches had been carved on the stone near the pool. I undressed and walked inside it, as I had already done a number of times the past days after practice. The scalding water felt so good on my skin that I didn't want to get out ever again.

 _"_ _I don't ever want t' leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever"_

I heard Ygritte's voice telling me in my head, remembering that time I was in the cave with her beyond the Wall. There was not a hot spring in that cave though… the waters were cold and there was a waterfall there… _She_ was there and I pleasured her with my mouth, I made love to her again and again, but in the end, I betrayed her, I killed her. The arrow may not have been mine, but her death was my fault all the same. I left her for duty, for honor; values the boy I was believed in… values the man I had become no longer knew how to uphold.

I saw Ygritte's face in my mind's eye, smiling at me, but soon her image shifted. Her tangled red hair became soft copper curls, her blue-grey eyes became a pair of bright sapphires, her nose straightened, along with her teeth, and I no longer saw Ygritte but Sansa smiling at me. Her smiles were few and far between, but they were always warm and beautiful. I was the only one, who could make her smile, save for Ghost, but Ghost was part of me too; he didn't count. I felt proud for that accomplishment, but I had yet to make her laugh and that irked me.

I thought the feast we had yesterday would make her happy, but that had not been the case. That evening Sansa had left the feast early, so early that the servants hadn't even moved the tables for the dancing. Maybe that had partially been my fault, considering I left the high table as soon as I finished my food… I had felt so out of place there, like a fraud, like an imposter and I could not get comfortable on my seat. I was a bastard and I had no place at the seat of honor next to the Lord of the House in a feast. Even when I left the dais though, everyone insisted on calling me "my Lord".

 _I am lord of nothing, just a bastard._

I wanted to shout at them, but instead feigned a smile each time.

 _Father was a lord, Robb was a lord and then a king, but I am neither. I'm an anomaly. The ex-Lord-Commander of the Night's Watch, but no such thing ever existed before now…_

I remembered thinking in shame, feeling uneasy. I thought it impossible, but both of those feelings intensified as I looked up while the servants moved the tables, only to find out Sansa was no longer there. I immediately reclaimed my seat next to the Wull, inquiring about Sansa. She was weary he said and departed a while ago. The man appeared sympathetic and not in the least offended, but I was worried. I wanted to check on her, but it was not meant to be. The Wull was adamant that I lead the first dance with his daughter. This feast was getting worse by the minute.

 _That should have been Robb, not me._

I remembered thinking, but I swallowed my bitterness and asked the maid for a dance. She had been shy of sixteen, with skin as white as the moon, black hair and sky blue eyes. She had been smiling an awful lot, even though I had stepped on her toes a couple of times and at the end she even said I was a great dancer. I knew she was just being polite, but I had thanked her all the same and started a conversation about the Wildlings with Little Liddle after Artos Flint took my place as her partner. The rest of the night had been a blur, distracted as I was with thoughts of Sansa. The only moment I remember clearly, was when Ghost "called" to me from outside the walls. I went out and convinced the guards to let him in, walking back inside the Hall with him by my side.

Every battle-hardened man in attendance had almost pissed his pants in the sight of him. A smug smile crept on my lips at the memory of their reaction. Even then I had smiled inwardly, but I knew I could not let Ghost stay there. Those men had to trust me, not fear me, so I had sent him to Sansa, to protect her and maybe help her sleep a little better. As the feast came to an end, my restlessness intensified. I needed to go check on her. I had to. So I found myself in front of her door. Through the wooden barrier, I could hear Sansa crying with heartbreaking sobs. I wanted to go in and comfort her, hold her… I was about to knock, but I remembered her words from the previous night.

 _I don't want you to ever know Jon._

My hand had stilled and I strode off to my new room, the one next to Sansa's, which the Wull prepared for me on our second night here. The first one was a small drafty room on the ground floor, but the one I had now was big and warm; a room fit for a lord. I was about to undress, but I suddenly realized my concern for Sansa had increased because of Ghost, not me. The wolf was calling me in to help him…

I would never betray Sansa's trust so blatantly on purpose, so I resisted the pull. My body needed sleep, but I resisted that as well, knowing full well I would have a wolf dream as soon as I closed my eyes. So I roamed the castle grounds amidst the falling snow like a ghost until dawn, when I had become cold as a corpse. But then, that was nothing new… I always felt cold as a corpse on the inside. I might as well do so on the outside as well to match.

Even now that I was submerged inside the bubbling waters of the hot spring, I couldn't get warm enough. Despite that, my normally pale skin had reddened from the warmth of the water, and my palms had wrinkled like prunes, so I rose with a groan, patting myself dry and putting my clothes back on. I had already wasted enough time and I had a campaign to orchestrate.

I was too tired though. I was always tired and it was not only from lack of sleep. I was tired of all those responsibilities that everyone kept on piling at me. I was tired of fighting all the time. I was tired of being on the losing side every time. I was tired of my life, and I hadn't even counted twenty namedays.

 _Why do I always find myself in the midst of war and death? Have I not fought enough already?_

I wondered as I made my way to the Wull's solar, where I was sure I would find him, as I did every morning since our arrival here. I shoved all my weariness aside, reminding myself that everything I did, I did for Sansa. The moment I reached his solar, I heard voices wafting through the door.

 _He has company… maybe I should come back later._

I thought, but then I heard Sansa's name being mentioned and I changed my mind, knocking curtly on the door.

"Come in."

The Wull replied in a stern tone and I opened the door. I was not surprised to see the Norrey and the Flint in the room and I was even less surprised that they had stopped talking the moment I came inside. I ignored the fact completely and greeted them all with a bow.

"Good morning my lords. I hope I did not interrupt you."

I said courteously.

"Not at all lad! Come! Sit!"

The Wull replied as the other two men avoided my gaze. I sat on the chair next to the Norrey and clasped my hands on my lap with my back straight as an arrow.

"What troubles you my lords?"

I asked, cutting straight to the chase. They looked at each other in silent communication and the Flint started talking.

"A few days ago, a raven came from Winterfell to my keep."

He said and immediately my heartbeat quickened and I broke out in cold sweat.

 _Dark wings, dark words._

I thought grimly and waited for him to continue.

"The Boltons called the banners. They march to the Wall in a moon's turn to kill you and save Lady Sansa."

The man informed me as he passed me the letter. I cursed loudly. I had hoped we would have more time to gain plenty of allies. I was going to visit Karhold, Last Hearth, White Harbor, Greywater Watch and Bear Island, but now there was no time for that. We barely had time to prepare ourselves. I looked at the letter in my hands and read it quickly.

 _The Lady of Winterfell has been stolen from her home. Gather your forces and come to Winterfell at once. In a moon's turn we march to the Wall to kill the bastard Lord Commander and his Wildling friends, set the Watch to rights and return my good-daughter to her home and her rightful husband._

 _Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North._

I was expecting the letter to be the crazy ramblings of Ramsay Bolton. Instead it was a short and concise letter, signed by his father. It was full of lies and half truths, and by the end my blood was boiling in anger. I threw the parchment on the table and it rolled back into a cylinder, its broken pink seal taunting me.

"I was of a mind to convene a war council in the afternoon, but this changes things… we will have to make haste."

I said solemnly and both men shook their heads in agreement.

"We shall meet again here in one hour, along with everyone else."

Big Bucket Wull said and we all made to rise.

"I shall inform Lady Stark then."

I told them matter-of-factly.

"A war council is no place for a woman."

The Norrey said and I clenched my jaw in irritation.

"She is the Stark of Winterfell and she has every right to attend."

I replied dryly and left the room, heading straight to Sansa's chambers at the other end of the corridor. I was halfway there when I heard her voice come from the drawing room that I had just passed without a glance, followed by the sound of girly laughs. I waited to hear her laugh as well, but she never did. I remembered the sound of it, even though it's been years since I last heard it.

 _It sounded like bell chimes in the soft summer breeze… I would give anything to hear it again._

I thought and anger flashed in my brain like lightning, realizing Ramsay Bolton had robbed me of that pleasure.

I had stopped in the corridor mid-step, so I turned around and walked the five necessary steps to the drawing room. The door was wide open and the first thing I saw was Sansa, working with nimble fingers on black wool. She wore a pale blue dress and her hair shone like molten copper in the morning light. She was breathtaking… Then I scanned the room, noticing the rest of the ladies. There were two girls I did not know, the Wull's daughter Lysara and his lady wife, all of them with needles in hand working on white or gray cloth.

"Good morrow my ladies."

I said with a bow. They all replied with a "good morning" and I noticed the three younger girls blushing and averting their eyes from me.

 _Well, I guess they haven't had that many interactions with bastards._

I thought listlessly. The Lady of the House continued her embroideries unaffected, but Sansa held my gaze as her embroidery lay forgotten on her thighs.

"May I have a word Sansa?"

I asked her softly and she nodded in agreement.

"If you'll excuse me…"

Sansa said as she rose, leaving her work on the chair she sat a moment ago.

"Of course Lady Stark."

The Wull's wife said, smiling at her and we left the room together, the sound of the girls snickering following us until we entered her room and closed the door behind us.

"What can I help you with Jon?"

She asked politely with an impassive face. That schooled and controlled expression would have bothered me under any other circumstances, but I ignored it, knowing it was her shield, as courtesy was her armor.

 _After all that crying yesterday night, I bet she needs them more than ever._

I thought, realizing how emotionally raw she must be feeling. I may not have been there, but Ghost was, and small snippets of his thoughts and senses leaked through our bond all night. I had distanced myself as much as possible, as to not violate her trust, but it's hard to shut out what is being practically shoved on you.

"There has been a raven from Winterfell."

I simply said and passed her the rolled up parchment. The moment she detected the broken pink seal of the flayed man I saw her mask of indifference slip for a heartbeat and fear flashed in her eyes. As soon as it appeared though, it was gone and her mask was back on.

"Read it."

I simply said, and she unrolled it with steady hands, reading it silently.

 _She's so good at pretending it's scary._

I thought alarmed, wondering what may have happened to the little girl who carried her heart at her sleeve, in order to become a woman who hides all her feelings somewhere in a pit, buried.

"He is turning the North against us."

She said accusingly as she crushed the offensive letter in her small palm.

"Aye"

I said looking away from her Tully blue eyes. They were so much like her mother's at this moment.

 _Hard, accusing and hateful._

I thought, reminding myself that none of the above was intended for me this time around.

"What's the plan now Jon?"

She asked with steel in her voice, getting straight to business.

"I don't know yet. We have convened a war council in an hour's time at the solar to plan our strategy."

I informed her and I saw her straighten her back, taking a regal pose.

"I will attend as well."

She said in a commanding and willful tone that reminded me of Arya. My heart constricted in my chest at a memory of my little sister, demanding from our Lord father during supper when she became nine years old to be trained in swordplay along with us boys in the yard. Father had refused her then…

 _She is dead, and so is father. We are alone now, Sansa and I…_

I thought and the memory vaporized like mist. I realized she expected me to fight her at this and tell her no, as father once told Arya.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

I assured her with a smile. This time confusion was the feeling that shot through her eyes like an arrow, disappearing as fast as it came.

 _She still doesn't trust me enough to be herself around me._

The thought pained me, but I knew trust took time to build. I could be patient.

"Good."

She said, walking to the window and awkward silence filled the room.

"Sansa, I would never sidestep you."

I assured her, but she did not turn to look at me.

"I just want to help, but if you want me to step aside completely and let you take the reins, I will gladly do so."

I continued and saw her back stiffen at my words.

"I have no illusions of grandeur. You are the trueborn daughter and I'm the bastard. I−"

"Stop calling yourself that!"

She erupted in anger, not letting me finish. She was looking at me now and she was furious. There was no pretence, no mask, just pure anger. Even though she was angry at me, a part of me was glad she finally abandoned her mask and let her feelings out.

"I have already accepted it Sansa and it no longer bothers me. I know my place."

I assured her, expecting my words to calm her. They had the opposite effect.

"No Jon! You are a Stark to me! You are more of a Stark than I ever was, or ever will be."

She shouted and I gaped at her like an idiot.

 _How can she say that? Why does she even believe such a thing?_

I wondered, more confused than ever.

"That's not true Sansa."

I told her, believing every word.

"If you believe that, then you know _nothing_ Jon."

She spat at me and turned her back to me once more, walking towards the window, as if the conversation was over. It was far from over. Those words angered me beyond comprehension. Instead of leaving I followed her and stood right behind her.

"Then by all means, enlighten me!"

I said sarcastically, as my patience lay to shreds on the floor. She was looking at me then, scared and angry in equal measures. Her face was mere inches away from mine. She was looking up at me and I was looking down at her. All that rage twisted in my gut, morphing into something else, something darker.

 _Lust._

My mind whispered at me as I fought to keep from doing something stupid, something like pinning her to the wall and kissing her senseless.

"You are a wolf. A true wolf; strong, fierce, and dangerous. I was never a wolf, just a little bird in a cage, singing pretty songs."

She hissed, breaking me out of my lust-induced haze, fueling my anger yet again.

"You are all those things and more!"

I shouted and saw her flinch at my harsh tone.

"You are the strongest woman I have ever known Sansa, and believe me; I have met quite a few scary spearwives."

I continued, lightening my tone, making a jest. Her anger disappeared and a small stifled laugh escaped her lips. It was brief, but it warmed me to my core, giving me hope. I put my hands on her frail shoulders, demanding her attention once again.

"You are a wolf through and through Sansa, not a bird. They may have caged you, tortured you, starved you, but now you are free and all your previous captors will know the feel of your fangs at their throats, because a wolf cannot be tamed or broken."

I told her fervently, feeling her tremble under my hands. I had only a moment to prepare myself, before I felt her hands enveloping me in a hug. My own hands buried themselves in her hair. They were soft as silk and smelled of winter roses.

"Thank you Jon."

She said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. I thought she would end the hug there, but she did not. Her body fit so perfectly into mine; as if she was meant to be there all along and my treacherous body reacted to the hug in ways a brother never should to a sister. My breeches were beginning to tighten on my crotch, so I put a little distance between our lower halves, without breaking our embrace. Unfortunately, she misunderstood my shifting and let her hands fall, taking two steps back. My own hands let her curls go and fell back to my sides.

I felt awkward and uncomfortable, so I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension. My mind swarmed with thoughts and feelings I would rather not entertain and I searched in their midst for something to say.

"I believe it's time for the council."

She said almost absentmindedly. She had no idea of the maelstrom that raged inside me and I would have to be more careful if I wanted it to stay that way.

"I guess so."

I replied huskily, even though I had just cleared my throat a moment ago.

 _Get your shit together._

I commanded myself and cleared my head with a shake.

"May I escort you my lady?"

I asked courteously, offering her my hand with a bow. I believed she would have laughed at the bastard's attempt at chivalry, but she blushed prettily and lowered her gaze as if I was some gallant southron knight from a noble house and not her bastard half-brother.

"Yes, you may."

She whispered as she placed her hand inside mine, letting me lead her to the solar. With every step we took, she became more composed and impassive. By the moment we reached the open door of the solar, her mask was back on. Her whole posture extruded strength and confidence and I was hard pressed to associate this regal woman to the girl that hugged me only minutes ago.

"Good morning my lords."

She greeted them courtly and walked over to one of the empty seats on the table, as everyone got up and bowed in greeting, murmuring their good mornings. I was following close behind, so I pulled her chair out and then brought it back in as she prepared to take a seat. I noticed she chose the only seat with a second empty one next to it, so I took the hint and sat between her and the Liddle. I looked around and noticed that everyone was already here.

"Now that we're all here, care to tell us why we've been summoned so urgently?"

The Burley asked the Wull, looking slightly irritated and impatient.

"Roose Bolton marches in a moon's turn to the Wall with his Northern allies, where he believes Jon is keeping me hidden. He is of a mind to kill my brother, his friends and allies at the Wall and the Wildlings as well."

Sansa said, before the Wull had the chance to open his mouth, cutting straight to the chase. Everyone looked at her like she had grown a second head on her shoulders, obviously expecting she would stay meek and silent and let the men do the talking. I could not stop the smug smile that crept on my lips, knowing I was the one to help her discover the wolf she was all along.

"He'll do us a favor with the Wildlings"

One of them murmured.

"The Free Folk will be fighting beside you my lords in the coming battles, and we need every last one of them if we wish to take back the North and win the battle for the Dawn."

I told them in a tired voice, meeting unwavering gazes full of loathing for the Wildlings.

 _No matter what Sansa and I say, none of them will love the Wildlings any better._

I thought, reliving the same situation all over again. I could only hope this time I would not end up stabbed to death.

"For better or for worse, we now have an alliance with the Wildlings; at least until they prove to be our enemies."

The Wull started.

"We now face a different enemy and we need more men to defeat them."

He continued, his booming voice filling the room, making everyone nod in agreement.

"Jon Snow and I had formulated a plan to visit the large houses of the North to win them over to our cause, but now there's no time for that. The best we can do is, visit the Umbers and the Karstarks and send ravens to all the rest."

At the mention of the Karstarks I felt Sansa grasp my hand forcefully, as if she wished to crush it. I turned to look at her, surprised at her reaction. Her face was ashen and her breathing shallow. I remembered the same thing happening in the Wolfswood, around the fire, when I asked about Ramsay Bolton. Thankfully the men were arguing with each other and nobody was paying attention to us. I put my other hand on top of hers, caressing it softly and put my lips right next to her ear, urging her to breathe. I could do nothing more without attracting attention to Sansa's state and thankfully she recovered fast.

She shot me a look full of gratitude and eased the pressure of her grip, leaving her hand where it was. I used my left hand to pour her a cup of water and she drank deeply. She was once again composed, but I could not pay attention to the talk around the table. I was too preoccupied with the questions that flew errantly in my mind.

 _Why did she panic when the Karstarks were mentioned?_

 _What did they do to her?_

I kept thinking while I watched her.

"−will surely aid us. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

The Flint said with certainty.

"We will not set foot to Karhold, unless we mean to burn it to the ground and take Arnolf Karstark's head."

Sansa said with so much hate in her voice and expression, everyone was rendered speechless.

"Why?"

I asked, before anyone else got the chance. The question was burning in my tongue ever since she grabbed my hand, but I knew I would not like the answer.

"Because he liked to watch the wolf bitch get what she deserved, as he put it."

She replied through clenched teeth. My hands clenched into fists at the image of Sansa on that filthy bed, getting tortured by the Bastard of Bolton as the old man watched from the shadows, enjoying himself. The rest of the men were equal parts furious and disbelieving. It was not only the vulgar image that she put inside their minds; it was the icy hate in her voice that had always been sweet and soft like honey. It was the profanity that came from the lips of a seemingly innocent maiden.

 _None of them has seen what I have…_

I thought with a shudder, as the image of her sitting almost naked on the root of the weirwood came unbidden into my mind. That image would haunt me until the end of my days.

"We will avenge you my lady. That I swear!"

Big Bucket Wull promised and a series of "Aye" filled the room from the rest of the men.

"I will take his head myself."

The Burley promised her and my respect of the man increased tenfold, knowing Arnolf Karstark had been like a brother to him.

"Thank you my lords, but all that will have to wait until we defeat the Boltons."

Sansa said with the perfect combination of authority and courtesy.

"What can we do to achieve that victory?"

She asked them and the conversation about strategy started anew.

By the time our council came to an end, the sun had set and the stars shone bright in the sky. It was time for supper, but I was in no mood for food. Things looked quite grim and there were few allies in sight.

The Boltons had an army of approximately six thousand men. The Karstarks, the Hornwoods, the Dustins and the Ryswells were loyal to them and they would never come to our side. The Glovers, the Tallharts and the Cerwyn's were Stark men that lived too close to the enemy, while the Manderlys and the Umbers played along because the Freys held captive the Greatjon and Ser Wylis. House Mormont and house Reed had not attended the wedding, according to Sansa, but I knew from her letter to Stannis, that Lyanna Mormont supported House Stark. It would do us small good though, as Bear Island had little to no men to offer. As for House Reed, Sansa had overheard that the crannogmen had attacked Roose Bolton's men with poisoned arrows as they made their way north through their lands. The crannogmen were not trained to fight in open battle though and we needed them to hold the Neck from any invaders from the South. They made for deadly opponents in their bogs after all.

Sansa and I wrote letters though, and sent them to every house in the North, except from the ones loyal to the enemy, asking for their support to defeat the Boltons, to serve justice and get revenge. We wrote about the Bastard's treatment of Sansa, of Roose Bolton's treason against the King in the North, of my death and resurrection and of the Others and the army of the dead that come from Beyond the Wall.

The Chiefs of the clans signed underneath, supporting our allegations and our cause, but I already knew it was not nearly enough. I could tell by Sansa's grim expression that she believed the same. I wanted to take her in my arms again and promise her that everything would be alright, that I would protect her and keep her safe from the monsters, but in the end it would all be empty promises; words in the wind.

We all walked to the Hall with somber expressions. It was warm inside and it smelled like smoke, roast goat and fried kidneys. My mouth watered at the savory smells and my stomach grumbled. I had not eaten all day and I was starving. As soon as the food arrived we all started eating in silence, everyone too lost in their thoughts. The only voices in the Hall belonged to the Wull's children and wife, who tried to make polite conversation with Sansa in vain. Thankfully there were no dances today, and as soon as we finished eating I was free to go. I was up and ready to leave when Sansa grabbed my forearm, making me turn.

"Jon, will you be so kind to escort me to my room?"

She asked softly. For some reason it sounded as if she expected me to deny her.

 _Little does she know that I can't deny her anything._

"Yes of course."

I replied and helped her up. We walked together in silence and I stole glances at her when she wasn't looking. She was too perfect to belong in this wretched, ugly world.

All too soon we reached the door of her chambers and I opened it for her, stepping aside for her to enter.

"Thank you."

She said intensely and I knew it was not for opening the door for her, or for escorting her to her chambers.

"For what?"

I asked as I scanned my mind for possible reasons to thank me.

"For everything."

She said with a smile and gave me a soft peck on my right cheek. For an adept swordsman, I did a poor job anticipating her move. The kiss left me flabbergasted and flushed. I was sure she could see it, even in the dim light of the torches and I hoped she would shrug it off and believe it was because of my shyness.

"Good night Jon."

She whispered huskily, my name almost like a caress on her lips.

 _I never knew my name could sound like that._

I thought, trying to ignore the tightening on my pants.

"Good night Sansa."

I replied, while looking somewhere next to her head, hoping she had not seen the lust in my eyes. I did not wait for her to close the door. I was already walking over to mine, just a few steps away. The moment I closed the door behind me I exhaled a sigh of relief and began undressing. My member was still hard and lust clouded my mind in a fog so thick, there was no place for guilt there yet.

 _Maybe I should take the edge off myself… it's been too long now, that's why she affects me so._

I thought as I unlaced my breeches. I was almost done when I heard a creak come from my bed. In a heartbeat I had unsheathed my sword and turned towards it. I expected to see a man waiting to kill me with a crossbow or a dagger. Instead it was a girl, naked as her nameday.

My mouth gaped open in surprise. In the candlelight I recognized her as one of the serving wenches, the bold one that always teased the men, me included. Sometimes she made me blush like a green-boy at her suggestive comments, but I never thought she would take it upon herself to come into my bed uninvited.

"You won't be needing that sword milord, but you can poke me with your other sword if you like."

She said with a salacious smile as she got up, walking towards me. She was about to grasp the laces of my breeches when I regained my wits. I took a step back, sword still in hand.

"Thank you for your offer, but I'm tired. I would like to rest."

I said dismissively, turning away from her to put my sword back in its sheath.

"Maybe _you_ do, but your cock tells a different story."

She whispered, too close to me. As soon as she ended her sentence, I felt her breasts press on my back and her hand squeeze my hardness. I hissed in pleasure, but shoved her hand away, turning around. I was furious and she must have seen it in my eyes, because she took a step back, looking scared.

"Leave."

I growled menacingly and she scurried off naked as her nameday, clutching her clothes on her chest.

 _What in the seven hells just happened?_

 _Why today, of all days?_

I wondered as I finished undressing mechanically. I sat naked on the bed with my head resting on my palms. I was confused and angry. I could have slept with the girl. She was experienced and willing and I could have gotten my much needed release inside her.

I no longer had to keep a vow of celibacy. I knew bastard children could be easily avoided with moon tea… but I just found no appeal in bedding the wench. All I could think of was Sansa, her face, her skin, her hug, the kiss she gave me, the way she said my name…

 _I'm in love with her… I love her._

I realized with chagrin. The guilt returned full-force, leaving me breathless. Now that I was no longer aroused, I felt disgusted with myself.

 _How can I even live with the knowledge that I lust after my sister?_

I wondered as I got under the pile of furs, trying to get as warm as possible. The mattress was soft and comfortable, unlike the one I had in Castle Black and the sheets smelled like lavender.

 _What would Sansa's sheets smell like?_

I wondered, almost half asleep already.

 _I bet they would smell like winter roses and sunshine, like she does._

I thought as I touched my cheek, reliving the kiss she gave me. I could still feel the ghost of her lips there. Before I knew what happened, I fell into a deep slumber with Sansa's smell still on my mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**SANSA**

"My lady, I have done everything in my power, but I fear it won't be nearly enough."

Maester Derron told me with his kindly and soft voice as he changed my bandages. His touch was soft and warm and his movements deft and practiced. His bony fingers felt nothing like Ramsay's thick ones on my skin, but still, it took every ounce of my willpower and concentration to stay still and let the old man touch me.

"Scarring is inevitable I'm afraid."

He said as he stepped away from me, clearly having finished his task and I let out a breath I had not realized I'd been holding. I put on my chemise hastily and I gave a slight nod his way seeing him bow in the corner of my eye, ready to leave.

"Maester, wait."

I said in flash of bravery.

 _I have to say it now, before it's too late._

I thought, steeling myself for what I was about to ask of him.

"How else may I be of service my lady?"

He asked and I turned to look at him. I hated looking into the Maester's eyes. Every time he looked at me I could see pity clearly reflected there. Sometimes it bothered me so much I wanted to claw his eyes out…

"By brewing me some moon tea."

I said with a polished smile and a determined tone. For once the Maester looked at me with something other than pity. Surprise had left him speechless for a moment.

"My lady, you are already weak and you have lost a lot of blood. If you are with child, the moon tea will make you bleed and I won't be able stop it."

The old man said gravely.

"I have survived much worse Maester. I would have the tea after I break my fast."

I told him icily and the pity returned to his eyes once again.

"As you wish Lady Stark."

The old man said stiffly and turned to leave.

"And speak no word of it to anyone."

I told him authoritatively and I saw him solemnly nod in agreement, leaving at once to comply with my request. The moment the door closed, I let a sigh escape my lips and my shoulders slumped under some invisible weight.

 _I will take a life today._

I thought with a sense of foreboding. I had not seen my moon's blood for the past three moons and during my stay at Winterfell the thought of carrying that monster's child had tortured me worse than Ramsay's knives did. It sickened me to know I could do nothing about it, but now I was free…

I heard a knock on the door and I immediately straightened my back, biding the person behind it to enter. I already knew it was Ella, my handmaiden by the timid way she knocked, and soon she entered my chambers. She was a sweet girl, just four and ten with brown hair and brown eyes and with a face as northern as the mountains we were in. Ella always looked at me as if I was a princess from a song, her admiration a stark contrast to the Maester's pity.

 _I don't deserve it. I am no princess and my life would make for a dismal song._

I thought, but refrained from opening the girl's eyes, letting the sweet summer child enjoy her innocence a little longer. Ella helped me don the black dress I had chosen while she gossiped endlessly about the other servants. I was too preoccupied with my reflection in the looking glass to pay her any attention though. From the first moment I laid my eyes on it I had hated it. I felt as if I was gazing upon a stranger. The woman there looked like me, with red hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, but she was different; I was different. It was not the black circles under my eyes, or the gauntness of my cheeks. It was the eyes. Those eyes that looked so much like mine had no light inside them. They were not the eyes of a young maid full of hopes and dreams; they were the eyes of an old weary woman, full of bitterness and pain. I tore my gaze from my reflection and focused on the falling snow outside instead, blocking out the things that caused that light in my eyes to die.

Ella was fixing my hair, talking about Jon again in a hushed voice. I could not see her face, but I knew she was blushing profusely as she went on and on about his looks and his manners and his skill with the sword. Every time she spoke about him, she reminded me of the little girl I was before; the one who believed in songs and mooned over the knight of flowers along with Jeyne Poole. My emotions were conflicting and confusing. I wanted to shout at her that all men were monsters. I wanted to be like her again, with starry eyes and easy smiles. And most of all I wanted her to stop talking about Jon like that, fearing her words would prove to be false, as mine had for everyone else…

 _Jon is my only beacon of hope…_

I thought as the maid finished my northern hairstyle leaving my room with a bow. I put on my cloak, the grey one that belonged to my mother and exited my chambers, heading to the Hall on my own for the very first time. Walking down the corridor I could hear the muffled voices of the servants as they cleaned the rooms and the feint clangor of swords from the yard. The noises could have reminded me of the Red Keep, but the voices had a northern accent and the yard was covered in snow, so the only things that came to mind were memories of Winterfell of my childhood.

I had longed to return to it with such ferocity, I let Littlefinger convince me it was a good idea to marry Ramsay Bolton.

 _It seems like everything I desire, the Gods give it to me, but in a cruel and twisted way; as if punishing me for wanting them the first place._

 _If any God exists anywhere in this world, he is not benevolent, nor forgiving, but maleficent and unmerciful, destroying our lives while laughing at our ruin, as Sweetrobin did when he destroyed "Winterfell" with his doll in the Eyrie._

I thought grimly and I returned to reality. Soon my footsteps brought me to the doors of the Hall and I stepped inside, with my impassive mask in place. As I walked towards the dais I could feel the eyes of the men piercing right through me. Each of them carried another sentiment for me, varying from distrust to curiosity and from pity to respect. I ignored them all, like a proper lady should, and sat on my seat gracefully. I ate a bowl of porridge slowly while making small-talk with the other ladies about the sewing of the banners and about embroidery techniques. Jon was nowhere in sight, but the same could be said for many more men.

 _They are probably making preparations for war._

I thought and shoved him off my mind. After all, I was too preoccupied with keeping up appearances, when my mind was to the moon tea that awaited me in my chambers. I told nobody of what I was about to do, half-afraid they would try to stop me or dissuade me. I returned to my room in a hurry, running up the stairs when nobody was watching. By the time I reached my floor I was panting and bleeding. Several of my wounds tore open in my haste, staining the bandages the Maester had changed only this morning.

As the door to my chambers came into view, I spotted the Maester waiting for me outside, holding a steaming cup. I thanked him and almost closed the door to his face, denying his care. After all he was the one to tell me he wouldn't be able to help me if anything went wrong…

I drank the concoction in one gulp, surprised by its sweet taste and ordered one of the maids to prepare a bath for me.

 _If I am to bleed, then at least I will not turn the whole room into a slaughterhouse._

I thought and sat by the fire, working on Jon's gift as I waited. I was going to make him Stark clothes, cloak and armor, identical to the ones father used to wear. I had already finished sewing the cloak yesterday night by the fire, so I started on the jerkin. It was quite easy to make and I had already half-finished it when the servants came in with pails full of steaming water for my bath. I let them prepare it as I kept on sewing and then I sent them away, demanding not to be disturbed.

I was adding the final touches to the jerkin when I felt a sharp stab on my lower abdomen that made me double over in pain.

 _It has begun._

I thought as I got up, removing my clothes with trembling fingers.

 _I will not die today. I am a wolf. I am strong._

I thought to myself as I tossed my dress on the bed haphazardly. By the time I was naked, the blood had already run all the way to my knees and a tiny puddle had formed on the floor. I stepped in the tub and let myself soak in the warm scented water, watching it slowly turn from clear to pink. It no longer smelled of winter roses, but of blood. Soon everything started to hurt inside and in my mind it was Ramsay hurting me, stabbing me repeatedly with an amused smile on his face and a crazy glint in his pale eyes.

I was woken up by a loud bang, feeling weak and drowsy. Through half-lidded eyes I made out the dark silhouette of a man on the door.

"Sansa! Oh gods…"

He exclaimed in panic. I had only managed to blink, but he was already beside me, looking frantic and horrified.

"Jon…"

I whispered weakly. Even in my own ears, his name sounded more like a plea than a greeting.

"Sansa, what have you done?"

He snarled at me, making me flinch with his tone.

"All that blood… What happened? Where is the Maester?"

He shouted in panic, probably alerting the whole Keep as he kneeled beside me, his hands grasping the edge of the tub so tight, his knuckles whitened.

"Shhh…"

I told him, putting my finger on his lips to silence him. They were soft to the touch and warm and now they were also wet with water and blood; my blood. His grey eyes that were wide with panic just a moment ago had widened even more in surprise at my touch.

"It's the Moon tea."

I whispered to him as I let my hand fall back into the tub with a soft splash. The drops that flew in the air were pink. When I looked down into the water, it was much darker than I thought it would be and it had also gone cold.

 _How long was I in the tub?_

I wondered, and stole a glance at the window. It was still twilight, but dusk was approaching fast. I had spent too many hours submerged in the tub.

"I was carrying his child, but it's gone now."

I told him as I looked back to his face. I was expecting to see disgust and disdain there, maybe even pity, but Jon was looking at me with sad grey eyes that spoke of understanding and something that looked like love.

 _Love… as if anyone could love me._

I thought hazily, dismissing the possibility completely.

"I understand… you have to get out of the tub though Sansa. I will fetch your handmaiden and the Maester."

He said decisively as he made to get up. I stilled him with a hand on his bicep.

"No Jon, please not Ella, she is only a child."

I begged him in a strained whisper, remembering the way her eyes shined. I didn't want those eyes to be tainted by the image Jon had before him.

"And the Maester can do nothing. He told me so already."

I continued as a shiver racked my spine. I felt frozen and half-dead.

"Who do you want me to call then?"

He asked sounding desperate and looking very uncomfortable.

"Nobody. I'll do it myself."

I told him as I gingerly shifted my body to rise from the cold, bloody waters. I drowned out his protests and I almost succeeded in kneeling, when my hand slipped. I prepared myself for the impact, but it never came. Jon had steadied me.

"Please, allow me."

He said gruffly. I nodded in agreement, shushing the voice inside me that panicked in the prospect of him seeing me naked when I was so vulnerable.

 _He has already seen me in my room at Winterfell and in the woods, yet he did nothing to hurt me then… Jon would never hurt me._

I thought as I felt his warm hands leave my shoulders, the loss of his heat making me shudder. He dipped them into the water and lifted me up as if I weighted nothing. I was shivering violently and the room was spinning as if I had drank a whole pitcher of ale, but even then, a small voice inside my head whispered that it wasn't proper to be naked in Jon's arms.

 _No it's not, but I don't care about propriety anymore… and it feels good to be his arms._

I retorted to the old Sansa. It was not a lie that it felt good to be held by Jon. It felt warm and safe in his arms; it felt like home. But all too soon he laid me on the cold bed, taking it all away. I sighed in disappointment; certain he was going to leave me there. He proved me wrong though. As I drifted in and out of consciousness I felt him dry me off with a towel and dress me in my nightgown. Then he tucked me into the sleeping furs and I was out like a candle.

* * *

I woke with a scream from my nightmare, feeling scared, disoriented and weak. The room was dark and the only light came from the logs that burned in the hearth. Jon was sitting on a chair beside me in the same clothes he had been wearing before, with his curls loose, framing his face in a black halo. He had been polishing his sword, but now he was looking at me with intense dark eyes that were full of emotions I couldn't decipher. I could scarcely believe he had stayed vigil beside me the whole time I slept.

"What time is it?"

I asked him in a voice thick from disuse.

"You were dreaming of him."

He stated sullenly, ignoring my question all-together as he wiped Longclaw with a cloth using long, practiced strokes. I sat upright on the bed expecting the same sharp pain from before to bloom in my lower abdomen. Instead there was only a dull ache, easy to ignore, unlike Jon's statement.

"I wonder what gave it away."

I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"You were begging him to stop."

His honest words nonplused me and snippets of my dream came back to me, making me flinch.

I leaned towards my nightstand to fill my cup with whatever was in the pitcher. My throat was dry as the sands of Dorne and I needed something warm and liquid to soothe it. I found the cup already almost full and I glanced at Jon, asking silently for permission to drink from his cup. He gave me a slight nod to go ahead, never breaking his sullen expression. I downed the whole cup in three long swallows. The ale tasted bitter on my tongue, but it soothed my parched throat and warmed my belly all the same. I stayed silent for a while, waiting for the ale to take away some of my inhibitions. I needed all the help I could get to pull off what I was about to do… Soon my head started to buzz pleasantly and I felt a little bolder, so I took a deep breath, getting ready to talk.

"In the beginning I begged him to stop every time he hurt me."

I confessed in a hushed voice, sounding much less intoxicated than I actually felt. I heard him take a sharp breath in surprise.

"Sansa you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Especially now, after… that."

He assured me, probably remembering what I told him the first night I woke up in this room. He was too considerate, but I couldn't stop now.

"I have to and I want to."

I told him sincerely, determined to continue.

 _Jon deserves to know; Jon has to know._

I thought to myself, remembering hazily yesterday's council and how ignorant all those men were of the monster's way of thinking. They would never listen to me, but they would surely listen to Jon.

It was more than that though… I had let myself trust him. Maybe not completely; at least not yet, but he had gone above and beyond to ensure my wellbeing and my happiness, asking for nothing in return. He was my pack, my family…

"I realized he loved to hear me scream and beg though, so I fought to remain silent, to rob him of his pleasure."

I continued as I poured myself another cup of ale spilling some on the nightstand. I took a small sip this time, wishing only to maintain my slight intoxication.

"But then he just found worse ways to hurt me, to humiliate me, just so he could get off."

I said in a dead voice, as Jon flinched and took the cup from my hands, bringing it to his own lips and draining it in a single gulp, just as I did just moment's ago.

"And in the end, I no longer stayed silent to spite him. I stayed silent because the pain no longer meant anything. I stayed silent because I was dead inside."

I told him and I saw his eyes fill with rage and pain. He slammed the cup on the nightstand, startling me.

"Don't say that… you… you don't know what it's like to be dead Sansa…"

He reprimanded me while shaking his head in dismay. I saw his dark curls bounce and fall before his eyes, only for him to put them back in place with an annoyed huff.

"Maybe I don't, but you do…"

I agreed with him, letting my voice trail off. In the firelight I saw him clench his jaw and purse his lips, clearly displeased by the course our conversation had taken.

"What was it like Jon?"

I asked him in a hushed whisper. For a moment he stayed silent and broody and I thought he hadn't heard me, but then he spoke.

"I can't really explain it with words… There was nothing there but complete darkness and unimaginable cold. There were no gods, no heaven, no hell, no loved ones; just endless emptiness."

He was looking into the flames as he spoke, as if he was talking to them instead of me and his right hand was rubbing circles on his chest absentmindedly, on the place right above his heart.

For some reason I had already anticipated his answer. I had stopped believing in the Seven the same day father lost his head in the steps of the Sept of Baelor and I had stopped believing in the old gods the night Ramsay Bolton raped me for the first time with Theon watching; the night he married me before the heart tree.

"Then, if we lose, I will die happy, knowing death will be better than being in the mercy of Ramsay Bolton."

I told him sincerely. I poured myself another cup of ale, drinking deeply, as if its warmth would somehow be enough to chase away the chill that had settled in my heart.

 _Nothing will ever be able to make my heart feel warm again._

I shuddered at the truth of those words, wishing I could somehow prove them false, but knowing there was no such chance. Jon was silent and broody, so I passed him the cup again, knowing he needed it. His fingers brushed mine and once again a strange tingling traveled from the tips of my fingers, all the way to the base of my spine. He appeared unaffected by it though and I brushed it off as one of the effects of the ale, which had already started to mess with my head.

"Nothing in this life is worse than death Sansa."

Jon said calmly, in a grave voice. I didn't give him a reply, knowing our experiences were different, but equally traumatic. We were both dead in a sense. Jon was a resurrected corpse and I was a living person with a dead soul.

 _Well, it seems like Jon was right in his speech after all… only if you put us together we can make a whole person._

I thought wryly, letting a sigh escape my lips at the futility of it all.

"Do you think we have a chance of winning against him?"

I asked him, needing his reassurance.

"I… Sansa, I don't know yet. We won't be getting replies to our letters for a few days, and without knowing how many men we have, I can't even start thinking of strategies. But I want you to know that I will do anything and everything in my power to win."

He promised me and I wanted to believe him, but it was hard. It was hard because I knew Jon was not the kind of man to make the kind of sacrifices his promise implied.

 _No. Ramsay is the kind of man to do anything and everything to win…_

"You think you have him all figured out, don't you?"

I asked him with a sarcastic smile, almost laughing in his face at his ignorance. The ale had made my mind murky, but I still had some restraint, so I used it to stifle the laugh that threatened to erupt from my chest. Jon didn't answer, but his eyes projected the answer clear enough.

 _"_ _Yes. Yes I do."_

He thought, but he knew nothing.

"He is a monster Jon. He has no understanding of good and evil. He feels no compassion, no love, no devotion, no remorse. He takes pleasure in other people's pain and he loves breaking his new toys in the most savage and humiliating way he can think of. He is delusional, believing himself a trueborn son, flaying whoever says he is bastard-born. He is completely mad and unpredictable, making on the spot decisions that prove to be traps of extreme cunning and cruelty. And he feels no fear, believing himself to be somehow invincible and taking extreme risks that nobody had even seen coming. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants Jon, please understand that."

I told him desperately as I worried my lip, laying on the table every piece of Ramsay's character I have managed to accumulate over the past four moons, but Jon seemed unimpressed.

"I may have not lived with him, but I have seen what he's done to you. I have heard every little thing you've said about him, all the insinuations you've made and I have also heard the rumors about him that had travelled all the way to the Wall. I am not stupid Sansa, so please don't insult my intelligence."

He said with anger shimmering beneath the hurt in his voice. I let a sigh escape me, feeling awful for filling Jon's mind with Ramsay's foul and twisted ways.

"I'm sorry Jon."

I apologized, looking down at my hands on my lap and tugging at my sleeve in nervousness.

"What for?"

He asked and as he shifted on the chair. I kept my eyes down in shame.

"For telling you all that… I wanted to shield you from the ugliness of his mind. I wanted you to never know how much darkness and evil there can be in a man's heart. You are gentle and kind and honorable, with a good heart and I didn't want to smudge you with all the filth that I carry, but it was necessary. You see that, don't you?"

I asked him pleadingly, still looking at my hands.

I heard the chair creak and suddenly the mattress dipped under his weight beside me. I saw him reach for my hands and I let him clasp them inside his. An inaudible gasp escaped my lips at the shock that went through me once more at his warm touch and I hoped it went unnoticed.

"Sansa there is no need for you to shield me from Ramsay Bolton or anyone for that matter. If anything, it's my job to shield you from him, as your older brother."

He said gently as warmth bled from his hands into my own frozen ones.

"And you couldn't soil me even if you wanted to, because to me you are the only light there is in this world."

He said with a small smile. In the darkness I thought I saw him blush, but I wasn't sure. I remembered thinking just this morning that Jon was my only beacon of hope and I realized with a start that whenever he looks at me, he sees the same thing I see when I look at him;

 _A ray of hope._

I thought and I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"It's late. I'll leave you to rest."

Jon said abruptly. He let my hands fall back on my lap, looking almost frantic in his haste.

 _No, no no! He can't leave!_

My mind screamed at me in panic at the prospect of being alone in the darkness. If he left, Ramsay would come to punish me for what I did and this time I would really deserve it…

"I thought you'd stay here and keep me company."

I said as calmly as I could, considering the desperation I felt.

"I need to rest as well you know."

He said in a light tone, but his expression was too sullen to match.

"You can rest here."

I retorted stubbornly, pouting at him. Maybe if I hadn't drunk that much I would have stayed silent. I knew I should let him go to his room. I knew I deserved to suffer for what I had done today, but I was too scared…

"I can scarcely sleep on my bed Sansa… the chair will hardly do."

He said morosely and I frowned at him.

"Not on the chair; you can sleep on the bed. I'm sure Ghost won't mind if you take his place now that he's not here."

I saw him blanch at my statement, as if I asked him to lie in a nest of vipers.

"No, I can't… I would never…"

He stuttered shaking his head in denial as he gathered his cloak from the back of the chair, ready to leave.

 _Jon Snow… shy and noble as ever. And determined to protect my virtue, even though there is none left to protect._

I thought wryly. I wanted him to stay though, because without him; without Ghost, I wouldn't make it.

"Please Jon…"

I breathed out and I saw his determination crack. I knew I was selfish and that I was manipulating him. Maybe in the morning I would feel bad about it, but I couldn't let him leave tonight.

"Sansa…"

He started with a pained expression, but I stopped him.

"I took a life today Jon. Please, please, don't leave me alone."

I pleaded him as moved to get out from the bed and closer to him. The moment he saw what I was about to do he threw the cloak back on the chair and came beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Fine. I will stay, but please don't get up."

He reconciled as he pushed me gently back onto the mattress. His warmth seeped through my nightgown to my skin and I shivered from the cold air of the room when he took his hands off me. I huddled into the sleeping furs and waited for Jon to join me on the bed. Instead of undressing to lie beside me though, he just walked over to the chair again and sat on it with his legs stretched out before him.

 _Honorable to a fault._

I thought to myself as I watched him rest his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes. He pretended to be asleep, but he couldn't fool me.

I stayed awake all night watching Jon pretend to be asleep until the light of the hearth died, leaving the room dark and quiet, save for his rhythmic breaths and the cacophony of thoughts in my mind.

* * *

It took me three days to recover from the effects of the moon tea. I had too much time on my hands and too little to occupy my mind with during my recovery abed. I finished Jon's new clothes on the second day and now and I was simply waiting for the blacksmith to provide me with the armor. On the third day I started working on a dark blue velvet dress for myself, but the sewing and stitching was something I did mechanically, so my mind was free to wonder into territories I did not wish to visit…

Yesterday came three ravens, two of them from Deepwood Motte. One was from Robbet Glover, denying us his support and one was from Larence Snow, swearing us his fealty, his sword and all the Hornwood men he could rally against the Bolton bastard who killed Lady Donella after he wed her. The third was from Lady Jonelle Cerwyn, claiming she had nothing left to offer us.

Today there were more denials, by the Manderlys and the Tallharts, but we still awaited a reply from House Mormont and House Reed. There also came a raven from Castle Black carrying three parchments rolled into one. Jon said the first letter bore the broken seal of the flayed man. According to him, Ramsay demanded they bring me back to him, along with Jon's head to mount on the walls of Winterfell. That was to be expected, but the unexpected part was the signature at the end. Jon said, it read "Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North" in Ramsay's big spiky letters. Obviously Roose Bolton met an untimely death quite recently, probably right after he called the banners.

The second letter was a copy of the Lord Commander's reply to him. He stated that Jon Snow had died more than a moon past and that the Watch burns all bodies. He also claimed that no Sansa Stark had come to Castle Black and that the Warden of the North was more than welcome to come see the truth of his words for himself.

The third was an update. The Lord Commander informed Jon that the Wildlings were already marching south along with a giant, the Red Woman and Lord Seaworth. He also said that the Wall was still standing and that there had been no attacks from the Others to it as of yet.

Things looked pretty grim. Jon kept claiming we could win during the council meetings, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. I wanted to do something to help, but as things stood now, the Boltons had two thousand men more than us and they had Winterfell. They could even write to the Freys to send a few more thousands to their aid, if they wanted to be on the safe side.

That was the moment a terrible idea got lodged inside my head. Littlefinger told me before he left Winterfell that the knights of the Vale would camp on Moat Cailin, under Lord Royce's command until his return. They were ten thousand strong and eager to shed blood. Littlefinger would have no doubt already made for Moat Cailin after he heard of my escape. I could write him a letter to ask for his help.

 _And then, when we have won, I will reward him with a stab in the back, just the way he taught me._

I thought, already forming a plan in my mind. It was simple yet devious; just the way Littlefinger liked them. But this time around, he would be the pawn and I the player. Of course Littlefinger was a hard man to play with, but he was a man nonetheless, with desires and dreams and I was probably the only person in the Seven Kingdoms with intimate knowledge of said desires and dreams. Some part of me was disgusted at myself, not only because I was thinking of asking for his help, but because I was becoming like him; a man I hated. I drowned out that part though, because I knew his help could be the difference between life and death. And because I understood that Littlefinger had to be dealt with, if I ever wanted to feel safe again. After all, I had no delusions he would leave me alone; not when he was so obsessed with me. And it would be so much easier to dispose of him if he perceived me as an ally, rather than a foe.

The only problem was Jon…

I could tell him; after all he already claimed he would do anything to win. Jon though was an honorable man and he would never bring himself to side with the likes of Petyr Baelish.

 _No, it would be too risky to tell him anything…_

If Littlefinger never came, then we would be left hanging, so it was best to base our strategies on our current manpower. On the other hand, if Littlefinger heeded my call and helped us win, Jon would not be able to bide his time and wait for the deceit and subterfuge I had in mind to work. By confiding in Jon, I would have to tell him of the things Littlefinger did to deserve my wrath and then, he would just take his head after the battle, with little regard to the political damage such an act would cause.

But gods, how I yearned to see his head on a spike, right next to Ramsay's and Arnolf Karstark's… and if Joffrey was still alive it would have been sweet to see his head mounted on the walls of Winterfell as well, but the gods denied me of that pleasure.

I sat on my desk, taking a quill in hand, and started to write the way his trusted daughter, Alayne, would have. For good measure, I even promised him a reward and signed underneath as Sansa Stark, sealing the letter with the direwolf of House Stark.

I put on my cloak and a pair of leather gloves, fixing my hair as I walked out of my chambers. The moment I exited the building, I pulled up my hood to ward off the cold and protect myself from the falling snow. I worked on the story I would tell the Maester in my head. It sounded shallow and entirely too believable coming from the lips of a young maiden. I was no maiden though and the days I entertained such thoughts were long gone. The moment I reached the last step of the tower, I had already chosen carefully every word I would say.

The rookery had no door, so I simply walked in, finding the Maester feeding the ravens with kernels of corn. It was quite easy to persuade him to send the letter. I told him of Harry the Heir, my one true love, who I left back in the Vale to marry for duty. I blushed prettily as I told him how he promised he would wait for me to send him a raven at Moat Cailin, where Littlefinger had left a small garrison to guard the North and how much I longed to hear from him. I almost felt bad for lying to him so shamelessly, but the pity in his eyes made me reconsider.

That night I did not sleep. I was too anxious, too worried. I regretted sending the raven a thousand times, wishing it would get lost or shot down by an arrow, only to argue with myself that it was the only sensible thing to do; that it was necessary.

Sometime into the night Ghost shifted beside me, opening his big red eyes and stretching his huge body. I paid him no mind, certain he would sleep again soon. He grew restless though and soon he started nudging my arm. I petted him behind his ears to calm him, but he took the sleeve of my nightgown between his teeth instead and started pulling me from the bed. He didn't make a sound, he never did after all, but his crimson eyes were pleading me to come with him. I got up and followed him to the door, opening it for him in case he wanted to go hunt or relieve himself. He did not release my sleeve though, pulling me out of the room and into the freezing corridor. I tried to get back inside to put on my cloak, but Ghost was unrelenting.

 _I hope he doesn't want me to take him for a walk in the middle of the night._

I thought grimly, deciding I would let him tear my nightgown and go back inside, if that was the case. Thankfully we didn't have to go very far. The moment we reached the next door, Jon's door, Ghost started scratching it with his claws. Fear crushed my chest like an icy fist.

 _Jon! Oh no…_

My mind screamed at me and I wrenched the door open in panic, certain something terrible had happened to him. I was ready to scream for help, but the harsh winter wind knocked the breath out of me. I quickly scanned the room in the moonlight and found only Jon on his bed, thrashing around and whimpering with a pained expression on his face. The window was wide open, letting the snow and the frost inside and there was no fire in the hearth.

 _What was he thinking, falling asleep with the window open in winter?_

I wondered as I bolted it, careful not to step on the snow on the floor and then I quickly walked over to Jon. Ghost was pacing beside him like a wild beast in a cage, but I walked past him and sat by Jon's side.

He was panting and crying out in pain, as he thrashed around trying to protect himself from invisible enemies. He had kicked off his furs and he was naked save for his cotton undergarments. A fleeting thought came into my mind that I shouldn't be in the same room as my half-naked brother, but Jon's cries drowned it.

 _He must be freezing._

I thought, but, in the faint moonlight that streamed through the windows, I saw that his skin glistened like polished silver from sweat, making the terrible black wounds on his chest and abdomen more prominent. When he told me of his death, I believed him only because of the haunted look in his eyes and later when he showed everyone in the Wull's Hall his chest, my doubts diminished thanks to the men's reaction, but now that I was seeing them with my own eyes, there was not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Jon had indeed died.

 _Poor Jon… What have they done to you?_

I wondered silently, feeling sad for him. I put my freezing hand on his damp forehead, brushing away his dark curls and started singing to him a song mother used to sing to me whenever I had nightmares as a child. It was the first time in years I sang for somebody because I wanted to. I sang for the Hound because I was afraid of what he would do to me if I didn't and for Littlefinger I sang because it was expected of me, but for Jon I did it because I wanted to, with all my heart. The tune was familiar and soothing, the words soft and calming, but it did nothing to relax him. When I reached the third verse he woke with a sharp gasp.

My voice faltered at the promise of violence in his eyes and the song died in my throat. I instinctively pried my hand from his hair, but he grasped it with surprising gentleness, stilling it somewhere above his chest. His eyes trained on my face and they were sad now, sadder than I had ever seen them and desperate.

"Please, don't stop."

He whispered hoarsely, letting my hand go.

 _I should leave…_

I thought, feeling shocked at his unexpected request and a little frightened by the way he looked at me the moment he woke.

 _He appeared feral and dangerous. He can hurt me._

My inner voice continued.

 _No, Jon is not a threat. He is just Jon and he needs me now, just as I needed him that night._

I retorted to the scared Sansa, feeling determined to return Jon the favor. I resumed my singing and my hand returned to his soft black curls, caressing them soothingly. Slowly his muscles relaxed and his expression became serene. I was shivering and my breath was misting before me from the frost, but I kept on singing, determined to offer him what little comfort I could. By the time the song ended, Jon was asleep once again; his chest rising and falling rhythmically with every puff of breath he released.

I covered him with his sleeping furs and lit a fire to chase away the cold that had settled in the room. I left him to rest, returning back to my own chambers with Ghost in tow wondering what kind of monsters plagued Jon's nightmares.


	8. Chapter 8

**Obviously, all recognizable lines do not belong to me.**

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! I hope you enjoy.**

 **JON**

I opened my eyes to the sight of dust particles dancing in the sunlight that streamed through the window. I felt well rested, warm and impossibly comfortable.

 _How long has it been since the last time I slept like that?_

I wondered, knowing it had been long enough to deem it strange; almost unnatural. During my time at the Wall I got used to waking up at the crack of dawn and, after my death, I would wake even earlier than that, sleeping two or three hours at most each night. After the three hour mark the nightmares and the darkness proved to be too much and I would wake panting and doused in cold sweat.

The previous night though was different. The nightmare came, as it did every other night. Men dressed in black, with steel daggers in their hands all around me… they were coming closer, but I had no weapon to fight them off. They took turns stabbing me, all of them, and then I was falling, bleeding; dying. I was cold again and the darkness was calling me, but then a heavenly voice beckoned me away from it, drawing me into another dream.

 _That dream had not been a nightmare._

I thought to myself, remembering how beautiful was her voice, how soft and tender was her touch. At first I thought it was my mother, the mother I never knew, but the woman in my dream was not my mother. It was Sansa. She was sitting next to me in her white nightgown, with her fiery curls unbound and shining in the moonlight. She was running her fingers through my hair and she was singing to me… I knew she wasn't real, but I begged her not to stop and the song continued, even after her face faded and darkness surrounded me once again.

I got up with a groan and stretched my aching muscles before I relieved myself in the chamber pot and washed my face in the basin. As I dressed, I realized I was humming the song of my dream. It had been familiar once, this much I knew, but many of my childhood memories were shrouded in mist and smoke. Maybe, they had burned away in the Red God's fiery fist as payment for the life he gave me back…

With great effort I managed to part the fog, bringing some of those memories to the surface. The song was one Lady Catelyn used to sing to her children to put them to bed, or to help them calm after a nightmare. She had never sung to me though… Somehow my subconscious had unburied the memory of that song in my sleep and had sweet Sansa sing it to me.

 _As if thinking of her every waking moment was not enough… I had to be dreaming of her as well._

I thought with chagrin as I remembered how beautiful and perfect she had looked and sounded. And gods her eyes… In my dream she looked at me as if…

 _Shut the fuck up you fool. It was just a dream, nothing more._

I reprimanded myself, interrupting my train of thought as I walked over to the Hall to break my fast. I had woken later than usual and found the place much more crowded than the previous days. The hearths were all alight, as were most of the torches on the walls, painting the hall in hues of red, orange and yellow and sending bouts of smoke and soot to the rafters, which had long ago blackened from it. The smell of food permeated the air; easily covering the stench of all those people crowded the room and making my stomach grumble. I walked over to the dais, greeting with a nod or with a pat on the shoulder, the men I had trained with, or worked with in the past days. Most of them smiled at me and wished me a good morrow, but my own expression remained sullen.

 _My brothers at the Wall also smiled at me like that on that morning, as we broke our fast, but at sundown they killed me all the same._

I thought and felt the frown deepen on my face. For once I was thankful for having a seat on the dais and I headed straight to it. As I had expected, the Wull was no longer there, probably having already broken his fast at the crack of dawn without my company. His children were there though and so was his lady wife. I greeted them all politely and sat on my seat, leaving the Wull's seat empty beside me. The Lady of the house attempted to make some small-talk with me as I waited for my food to arrive, asking me about her brother, Dunkan Liddle who was one of my former brothers on the Wall and I indulged her with as many tales as I could remember. When they served me my plate though, she started talking with her son, leaving me to eat in silence. I stole a glance to my left, where Sansa was supposed to be sitting and I only saw her empty chair. I let my mind slip into Ghost's for a split second to check on her… or so I told myself.

The noise and the smells of the hall faded and all I could smell was Sansa's unique scent, mixed with the fresh snow. My paws were sinking in it and I could feel her skirts brush my sides softly as she walked beside me. A shiver travelled down my spine at the feel of her fingers caressing the back of my neck… I jerked my mind away from Ghost's almost violently, returning back to my body with a jerk in the span of three heartbeats.

"−keep you company my Lord whilst you eat?"

I heard a girl's voice ask me shyly and I turned around to face her. My mind tried to grasp the meaning of her words, while I simultaneously warred with the pleasure I had felt at Sansa's touch.

 _No, that was not me, it was Ghost._

I corrected myself as I focused fully on Lady Lysara's shy smile.

 _Her mother probably made her come as an act of courtesy, as her father made her dance with me at the feast._

I thought as I discerned the nervous way she kept on twisting her hair with her fingers.

"My lady is very kind, but you needn't trouble yourself with the likes of me."

I told her courteously, knowing I was doing her a favor. After all, no highborn maid would want to sit beside a bastard and she surely wouldn't go out of her way to keep said bastard company.

I saw the girl bite her lower lip in nervousness, not knowing what to do.

"Good morning lady Lysara… Jon."

I heard Sansa greet us courteously from behind me and, at the same time, Ghost licked the hand I had propped on the arm of the chair in a greeting of his own. At the sound of her sweet voice my heart started beating faster and I immediately turned to look at her; drawn to her like a wolf to the moon when it's full.

 _How can she get more beautiful with every day that passes?_

I wondered as I greeted her back almost the same time as Lady Lysara did.

 _Why can't I stop this madness?_

I asked myself as I got up to help Sansa sit beside me, unsuccessfully trying to keep my eyes from lingering too long on her.

"Since your sister is here, I guess my company is no longer needed my Lord."

Lady Lysara said as I turned back to face her. The girl was smiling at me, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. I was about to open my mouth to talk, when she spoke again.

"Enjoy your breakfast."

She said to both of us and departed hastily with a slight bow after we thanked her.

"What did you do to the poor girl Jon?"

Sansa asked quietly the moment Lysara was not within earshot. Her bold question surprised me, as I had gotten used to meaningless pleasantries from her when we were in the company of others. I swallowed the piece of blood sausage I had just put on my mouth and gave her a shrug, indicating I had not the faintest idea.

"You surely did something dreadful judging by the way she left."

She said as she sipped her tea, holding the cup daintily between her fingers. I did not give her a reply and kept on eating the eggs and sausage on my plate with a chunk of warm bread. Somehow her words made me uneasy. I felt as if any reply I would give her would be wrong…

"She fancies you, you know."

Sansa said nonchalantly after a moment and I turned to look at her with my mouth hanging open in surprise, thanking the gods inwardly for having just swallowed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

I told her when I found my voice, pursing my lips together tightly in displeasure. The only answer she gave me was a single raised eyebrow, daring me to prove her wrong.

I really wanted to, but her comment made me see things in a new light. The girl had been blushing, avoiding my gaze and giggling with her lady friends whenever I passed her by. At those times I thought she was uncomfortable by my presence and that she was mocking the bastard with her friends… The only woman that had ever fancied me was Ygritte and she had been very straightforward about it. Lady Lysara though behaved the same way Sansa herself had when the bastard prince came to Winterfell all those years ago…

 _Could Sansa be right?_

I wondered as I took a sip of ale to justify my silence.

"Even if she is, I am busy preparing for war. I have no time for such things."

I answered her curtly, annoyance clear in my voice as I stabbed a piece of sausage with my knife.

"Oh… I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable Jon."

She apologized and she started nibbling at the oatcake in her plate.

For some reason her reply irked me, even though it really shouldn't. Sansa knew I had joined the Night's Watch before I had known a woman's touch; after all Theon was quite vocal about my unwillingness to join him in his whoring at Winter Town and his crass comments had surely reached her ears as well. She had no idea I broke my vows with Ygritte…

"No, it's ok Sansa. I just have a lot in my mind. I shouldn't have lashed out on you."

I said with a softer tone as I rose from my seat.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I'm late to my meeting with the steward."

I told her and I saw her nod at me as I passed her by with Ghost beside me. I put on my gloves and my black cloak and opened the door that led outside. The walls of the snow trenches had stopped rising in height since yesterday night, when the snow stopped falling and the sky cleared, but they still towered over the smaller buildings. I followed the path as the winter wind blew at my cloak, somehow managing to find its way to my skin through all my layers of clothing, but I paid it no mind. If the Wall had made me get used to the cold, then my death had desensitized me in it. The winds of winter were nothing compared to the coldness of death.

I made my round through the yard with Ghost at my side, checking on the final preparations for our march tomorrow with the steward who eyed Ghost with a healthy amount of fear. The Wull had done a splendid job at preparing for our march, but I couldn't help but check for myself to make sure.

 _Thank the gods I was steward to Lord Commander Mormont when we were preparing for the Great Ranging, else I wouldn't have even known from where to begin._

I thought as I approached the rookery alone; Ghost had already disappeared out in the snow to hunt and the steward had also left to tend to his other duties. Straight ahead I spotted Maester Derron, making his way towards me with his grey cloak blowing in the wind. He was so thin, it was a wonder he had not already been blown away along with his cloak, but maybe his chain was what kept him grounded.

We met in the middle.

"My Lord, I was about to search for you."

"I was coming to you as well Maester. May we speak somewhere warmer and more private perhaps?"

I asked him, and he nodded affirmatively, so we walked together to the nearest door. He followed me inside and we both shook the snow from our boots in the entrance. Then he followed me up the stairs in silence. I had already seen the rolled up letters the Maester was clutching in his hand and I wanted to read them in private.

We headed to my chambers, just as we had done when the previous letters arrived and we closed the door behind us, putting the latch in place. After Ramsay's letter arrived, I realized I had not been wrong to do so. I had avoided giving Sansa Ramsay's letter, telling her I had burned it in a fit of rage. I lied to her some more though, telling her he just wrote about taking my head and having her back, but the bastard had written much more than that…

"There just came a raven from Lady Mormont and before that, there was one that bore the Hornwood seal, but I was busy treating a man's broken nose upon its arrival. I came as soon as I finished treating him."

Maester Derron said as he passed me the letters. I broke the green seal of house Mormont and read the letter.

"House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for thousands of years. We will not break faith now. I shall ride east with sixty two fighting men and my Maester to serve House Stark and the true Warden of the North.

Lyanna Mormont, Lady of Bear Island."

It was not a surprise. I was certain House Mormont would come to our aid and I was also certain they had little to offer in terms of men. In war though, every man counted and one man could kill a dozen enemies before falling.

I opened the next letter. It was from Larence Snow.

"I had managed to amass a force of two hundred Hornwood men loyal to House Stark. We march to the Last River, killing Bolton patrols on our way. Northmen that survived the war of five kings emerged from the Neck to join our cause. Up until now they number one hundred and forty, but more show up every day through the snows, on foot or on horses to join us. We also detained a couple of Lannister lackeys; a lady knight and a squire who falsely claim to serve Lady Stark. I shall keep them imprisoned until your arrival, so you can pass judgment on them.

Your faithful servant, Larence Snow."

The contents of that letter were quite unexpected and undoubtedly impressive. Lord Halys's bastard son had managed to steal two hundred Hornwood men from the current Lord of Hornwood, Ramsay Bolton. He couldn't have travelled from Deepwood Motte all the way to Hornwood in so little time, so he must have taken those men from right under Ramsay's nose.

 _He took them from Winterfell, or rather from the streets, inns and brothels of Winter Town._

I thought and my respect for the man grew even more for his success in convincing so many men to follow him and ignore the threat of probably getting flayed alive at the hands of the Bastard of Bolton. The Northmen that showed up from the Neck, were probably compliments of Howland Reed. It appeared the crannogman was not a man of words, but of actions. He kept his bog-devils in the Neck to guard our borders and proceeded to send us the veterans of war, the ones who saw their brothers and friends slaughtered at the twins by the Boltons and the Freys; the ones who had a thirst for revenge. As for the Lannister Lady knight and squire, I had to ask Sansa whether she knew them or not, because I had no idea what to make of them.

"Good news this time around Maester."

I told him with a small smile and saw the man smile back at me.

"I am glad to hear it my Lord. What else did you need from me?"

He asked and waited for me to say something. Suddenly I remembered why I sought him out in the first place. I wanted to ask him if he could spare some of his birds to take with us, but Lady Mormont was bringing her own Maester with her, and he would surely be taking his own ravens with him…

"Nothing else Maester. Thank you very much for your service. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a council meeting to prepare for."

I told him and he left me alone in my room, staring at the offensive piece of parchment on my desk.

 _Ramsay's letter._

I thought with disgust. I had already read it more than a dozen times and I knew every word in it by heart, but still, I took it in my hands and read it once more, as if to punish myself for something.

 _"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,_

 _You allowed thousands of Wildlings to pass the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine Bastard. Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeons. His direwolf skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back. Send her back Bastard and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every Wildling man, woman and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see._

 _Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."_

I let it fall back on the desk and watched it curl, becoming a pristine cylinder once more, with the broken seal at the very top. I left it there and went to the solar with the other two letters clasped tightly in my palm to inform the clansmen and make the last preparations for tomorrow.

ͽͼ

The council meeting had dragged on for more hours than I had anticipated; a fact that became all the more tiring by Sansa's absence. I had gotten used to her sitting beside me during those long hours. I had gotten used to her silent assurances, her warning glances, her insightful comments and her sharp tongue. Her presence beside me was a solace and a sweet torture at the same time, but her absence was a torture of a different kind. Thoughts of her kept on surfacing in my mind, even though I had more important matters to think of, such as battle plans, encampment sites and food rations. I couldn't wait to see her again, no matter how much I hated myself for it.

 _After all I am a bastard, born from lust and lies. What else did I expect?_

I asked myself wryly. I could not hide my true nature from myself, even though I strived to hide it from everyone else. I was a bastard son who was lusting after his trueborn lady sister.

 _Maybe Lady Catelyn was right to despise me all along. Maybe she knew better than anyone my true colors; better even than me as it seems._

 _I am no better than Ramsay Snow… our only difference is that he has embraced his wickedness, whilst I fight it to no avail._

I thought as I listened to Brandon Liddle support his case on using the Wildlings as our vanguard. It was utter rubbish of course, and it was obvious he just wanted them to get slaughtered by the cavalry of the Boltons… Thankfully the Wull rebuffed his plan and he brought the council to an end soon after that, stating our strategy would remain unchanged.

I got up along with all the rest and walked out the door, ready to go find Sansa, when I felt someone slap my shoulder hard, making me stagger forward.

"Where do you think you're going so fast pretty boy?"

Morgan Liddle asked me loudly, his voice echoing in the corridor.

 _Gods not again… does he ever stop?_

"You still owe me that rematch… I have a reputation to maintain you know."

He said as he kept walking beside me. I already had a foul mood, thanks to the council meeting and his insistence made it fouler still. I had too many things to do and too little time to find room for a match with him and he obviously had taken it as a personal insult.

 _I might as well get it over with…_

I thought with a resigned sigh as I turned to face him.

"I'll just pass by my room to dress more appropriately and I'll meet you at the yard."

"Now you're talking!"

He said with a lopsided grin as he slapped me again on the back. Thankfully this time around I was expecting it and I didn't falter in my step.

"Better put on some extra padding pretty boy, cause I'm gonna beat you black and blue for stealing my Rosie."

He told me teasingly and I felt my ears redden at his comment. His beard twitched at my visible discomfort and I saw him slap the hilt of his axe. But Rosie was not his axe's name. Rosie was the serving wench that came into my room a few nights ago. Apparently, every time Morgan Liddle had visited the Wulls, she would always come to share his bed. This time around thought, she decided to come to mine instead. Taking in account the way I sent her away, it was no surprise the gossip had reached his ears.

"I told you already! Nothing happened!"

I shouted at him as he walked away, his booming laugh following me all the way to the door to my chambers. When I shoved it open, I was beyond surprised to find Sansa inside. She had never stepped foot in my room when we were children and she seemed to be following the same policy up until now. The moment she heard the door close, she turned to face me, her eyes full of accusations.

 _Oh no._

I thought with horror the moment my eyes fell on the letter in her hand and everything else fled from my mind.

"Sansa−"

"You lied to me!"

She hissed as she threw the cylinder at the direction of my head. I evaded it by reflex as my mind reeled with things I could say to explain myself.

To be honest, if the letter was not so abhorrent and offensive, I would probably have shared its true contents with her. It was too disturbing though, to be to fit for the eyes of a lady such as Sansa.

"I… I'm sorry… I just wanted to protect you Sansa."

I told her honestly as I took an involuntary step towards her.

"I told you already, you can't protect me!"

She spat at me, stopping me in my tracks. She was mad at me and, after all, she had every right to be, but hearing those same words for a second time did not make the hurt easier to bear. I watched speechless as she started to pace before the hearth in exasperation, her shoes making a rhythmic clank on the stone with her every step.

"Did it even pass your mind I would want to know?"

She suddenly asked, turning towards me, her pacing forgotten. I opened my mouth to explain my actions, but they all died in my throat with a single look in her eyes. They were cold as ice and hard as steel. Even if the color was blue, those were the eyes of a Stark.

 _The eyes of Robb._

I thought and I rubbed my face with my palms, as if by doing so, I would be able to scrape away the image of him, standing before me with snow melting in his hair and blood spilling on the snow from the wounds in his chest. It was no good, of course and still Sansa waited for my reply.

She must have seen something in my expression, because her anger evaporated like the morning mist at sunrise. Her features slackened, as if in resignation and the ice melted from her blue eyes, becoming the eyes of a Tully once again.

"I understand why you didn't want me to read it, but why didn't you tell me he had Rickon Jon?"

She asked, sounding hurt. I had not anticipated her to calm down any time soon. Her behavior disconcerted me, as well as her concern about our long dead little brother.

"Because Rickon has been dead for years Sansa, no matter what that bastard claims. He just wants to provoke us."

I explained carefully, trying to convince her and probably failing, judging by the way Sansa shook her head in denial.

"No Jon! Theon told me he never found Bran and Rickon to kill them. He said he just killed the miller's sons and he presented their charred corpses as our brothers. Theon said it was all Ramsay's idea… and now that monster has found our baby brother."

She exclaimed in desperation, her voice cracking at the end.

"And how do you know that the turncloak didn't lie to you?"

I asked her, feeling skeptical and at the same time trying with all my might to squash the sliver of hope that was about to bloom inside me at the prospect of my two little brothers being alive.

"You haven't seen Theon Jon, that's why you ask. If you had, you would have known he is no longer capable of deception. He lost that ability in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, under Ramsay's flaying knife."

She said sadness clear in her voice.

 _How can she even feel sad for the turncloak after everything he did?_

I wondered, completely at a loss, as I walked over to the armchair by the fire, sitting down heavily with a long sigh. Sansa sat on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, careful to keep them covered with her skirts. She would have looked cozy if it weren't for the stiffness of her shoulders and the wringing hands on her lap. I heard her take a deep breath to continue.

"Theon spoke the truth. And Ramsay… he may be a monster, but none of his cruel words to me were lies. He prefers to hurt people with the truth, because it hurts worse than any lie can."

She confessed with her eyes trained on the light of the candle beside her. The firelight cast dark shadows on her face and turned her hair into flame. I wanted to go sit beside her, clasp both her hands inside mine and comfort her, show her she was safe, but I did none of those things, knowing it was not brotherly concern that fueled those thoughts.

I did not answer her for a while, pondering on her words. If she was right, then she just blew our carefully drawn strategies to pieces. If Ramsay had Rickon, then we would have to save him.

 _Surely no northman will let the last surviving trueborn son of Eddard Stark die at the hands of the Boltons, not even his allies…_

I tried to convince myself, but then I recalled all the refusals we got from the great houses along with the Bolton Bastard's words in his letter to me.

 _"Winterfell is mine bastard. Come and see."_

He had written and my mind screamed at me that this madman would do anything to remain in his position of power; a position Rickon had a legitimate claim on.

A sigh escaped my lips again and I let my body bend forward, resting my face on my palms.

"How are we going to save him?"

I heard myself ask Sansa out loud.

"I don't know if we can save him Jon."

She whispered in a strained voice and I felt an icy fist crush my chest. Sansa just voiced my deepest and darkest fear; that the Bolton Bastard would harm Rickon. That we would lose him too…

"Failure is not an option Sansa."

I told her resolutely, trying to convince her as much as myself.

She did not reply and we stayed silent for a while, me with my face on my palms and Sansa with her eyes trained on her lap.

I got up after some time, feeling the urge to drown my sorrows and worries with a cup or three of northern ale. As I approached my desk I saw a pile of neatly folded clothes on top of it, where Ramsay's letter previously rested.

 _Maybe this is Sansa's latest embroidery project._

I thought, but upon closer inspection, I realized it was no such thing. My hands unfolded the cloak with reverence; a cloak identical to the one father used to wear. Then I inspected every other article of clothing and armor carefully, leaving no detail go unnoticed.

"I made those for you."

Sansa said nervously. Her voice sounded too close, but I had not heard her get up; she was standing almost directly behind me, so I turned to look at her with an unmistakably awed expression on my face.

"They're like the ones father used to wear; at least as near as I could remember."

She told me, her tone turning bitter at the end. My emotions were all over the place. I didn't know what to think or what to say. I was touched and honored by her gift, but at the same time a little voice inside my mind whispered that I did not deserve it; that I was not a Stark…

"Thank you Sansa."

I finally said the moment I found my voice, knowing it was the only right thing to say in this occasion. Even though I felt like shit for hiding things from her, the happiness and gratitude I felt, surpassed the negative feelings by far.

"You're welcome."

She said with a small smile and I couldn't help but smile back at her, letting true happiness prevail in my mind for once.

 _If I made her smile like that, then I surely did something right in the end… Gods she is too beautiful when she smiles._

I thought to myself, feeling the tension rise between us with every moment of silence. Sansa seemed to feel it too, judging by the way she kept on biting gently on her full lower lip. The urge to pry it from her teeth with my thumb became overwhelming, as well as the need bend down and kiss it softly. Her lips were pink and wet and too inviting…

A sharp knock on the door made us both jump and I thanked silently the person on the other end of it, for pulling me out of my inappropriate thoughts. I had just opened my mouth to bid the person to come inside when the door flew open.

"What's taking you so bloody long you son of a−"

Middle Liddle bellowed as he barged into my room, only for his eyes to fall on Sansa.

"L-lady Stark, forgive me for my poor manners."

He said awkwardly, dancing from one foot to the other. Sansa said nothing and with one look at her I saw why. She had gone white as a sheet and her breathing had gone shallow. She was frightened out of her mind.

"Out!"

I hissed at him sternly, as I all but threw him out the door. He followed me without complaints and I closed the door behind him. I turned my attention back to Sansa, only to find her rooted on the spot, struggling to breathe.

I took her hands inside mine and put them on my chest, urging her to take deep breaths like me and assuring her that she was safe. A few moments later she came back to herself, pulling her soft hands away from my chest and turning her head away, but not before I saw the flash of shame in her eyes.

"I have to go finish packing my things."

She said, making for the door. All of a sudden, I realized I hadn't told her of the two letters that arrived this morning. I had already fucked up by hiding the contents of one letter the day before. I couldn't afford to do it again; not when she forgave me just moments ago.

"Sansa, wait!"

I exclaimed, stopping her in her tracks and she turned to me, her eyes pleading me to let her go; to let _it_ go.

"I forgot to tell you… there have been two ravens this morning; one from Lyanna Mormont and one from Larence Snow."

I informed her with a small smile on my face, acting as if nothing happened.

"What did they say?"

She asked with a hopeful expression and I smiled even wider at succeeding in taking her mind off the earlier episode.

"Here, see for yourself."

I told her as I pointed to the small table where I had left the two letters. Sansa read them both carefully and I saw a smile grace her lips. Their contribution may not have been much, but at least they had not rebuffed us like all the rest. As she finished reading the second letter though, she got undeniably surprised.

"Larence Snow keeps prisoner Lady Brienne and Podrick Payne?"

She uttered in complete disbelief.

"So you know them?"

"Yes, yes I do… Lady Brienne offered me her service on my way to Winterfell, but I declined and chose to carry on with the plan to marry Ramsay Bolton instead."

She informed me wryly, self-loathing clear in her eyes.

 _It seems like I'm not the only one who always makes wrong decisions and trusts the wrong people._

I thought to myself and a shudder run through me as I remembered their smiles; their _daggers_.

"Don't be so hard on yourself… you had no way of knowing."

 _None of us had…_

I whispered in my mind, trying to shove away the image of father being beheaded, of Robb getting stabbed to death, of little Rickon getting tortured by Ramsay Bolton…

"No we hadn't, but you have no idea how many times I wish I could go back and do things differently…"

She replied with a whisper and I realized I had spoken aloud after all. I heard her take a shaky breath, as if she was about to cry. Her eyes were full of pain, but there were no tears to be seen inside them.

"I've made so many mistakes Jon and I have so many regrets…"

"Everyone does Sansa. I have done terrible things; things I would never have thought myself capable of. I've killed time and time again. I've betrayed people I loved. I've let Robb die just so I could keep meaningless, empty vows. I−"

"Shut up!"

She shouted at me, interrupting me and rendering me silent before I had a chance to bare all my sins before her eyes. Her voice was shaking with emotion. In her eyes I saw anger paired with enough pain for a person to drown into.

"You are not responsible for your direwolf's death! You were not the one to write to Robb on behalf of the Lannisters to bend the knee! You didn't go to Cercei Lannister to tell her father's plan! I killed Lady Jon! I killed father! I killed Arya! And now I will be responsible for Rickon's death as well!"

Her words were sharp as knives and each one cut me deeper than the last. Instead of pain though, I felt only numbness and confusion. I couldn't connect her words with their meaning; not truly. I stayed still before her, listening to the morbid tale she unfurled before me with rapt attention.

With a voice void of emotion she told me about Lady's death at the Crossroad's Inn and how she felt as if she had died as well that night. She told me of her foolish fights with Arya during their stay at King's Landing that she would take back a million times just to have Arya back one more moment and about how much she hated herself for trusting the Queen and for falling in love with a monster like Joffrey, for being a stupid little girl who believed in songs…

"−They kept me as a hostage, as leverage to keep Robb in line. I was the daughter of a traitor and the sister of another, so I was obligated to renounce and curse my family with every breath I took, just to stay alive. Joffrey abused me with every chance he got and every time Robb earned a victory, he would order the members of the Kingsguard to beat me bloody with swords and mailed fists in the throne room with my dress torn and my breasts bare for all to see… I still remember his words. _Leave her face_ , he said, _I like her pretty_."

I was dumfounded, my mind too unwilling to process it all, but her words kept on flowing like pus from a wound that had festered years ago, foul and putrid, making me feel sick, appalled; furious.

And then she told me about the whore Queen Cercei, the one she used to look up to, the one who abused her mentally, humiliated her and turned a blind eye at her son's cruelty. She told me about Ser Dontos, the man she saved during the tourney, the man that claimed was her Florian; the man who betrayed her to one of the Lannister's informers, ruining the prospect of her marrying the Tyrell heir.

"They married me to Lord Tyrion instead, at sword-point, in secret, to keep me as their hostage and to further humiliate the sister of the rebel, the daughter of the traitor who dared dream of better days. I had to dance at my wedding feast with Joffrey and listen to him tell me that my husband would bring me to his bed whenever he commanded him to, to make me his whore."

She said with a dry laugh in the end and I couldn't understand what in the seven hells gave her cause to laugh. The only thing that I could feel by then was rage; the kind of rage that makes the blood pound in your ears and your fists shake. I saw her walk over to my bed, sitting carefully on it in, like the Lady she was, but I remained unmoving, my muscles locked in place. The more I heard the more furious I got. The Lannisters had used and abused the sweet innocent child Sansa was in their pursuit of power and a crown that never belonged to them.

 _How can she even blame herself for all that? Does she really think things would have been any different, had she made smarter choices? Can't she see she was a mere pawn in a game of Cyvasse made for giants?_

I wondered as I slowly regained my wits. The initial shock had subsided and I had reigned in my anger for the most part. Her tale was far from over, so I walked over to the bed and sat beside her, close enough to smell the sweet scent of winter roses she used in her bath.

"And I killed father Jon… that awful morning father forbade me to say goodbye to Joffrey, so I went to the Queen and told her everything, like the fool I was, because the previous night father and I fought. He wanted to break my betrothal to Joffrey and take us back to Winterfell. He told me he would make me a match with someone brave and gentle and strong, someone like Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and I told him I didn't want someone brave, gentle and strong; that I wanted Joffrey, but Joffrey was a monster who demanded father's head… I was there you know, at the steps of the Sept of Baelor; I sobbed hysterically as Slynt threw father down for ser Illyn to behead with his own bla−"

"Did you say Slynt? As in Janos Slynt?"

I asked her, not caring one bit for interrupting her so rudely. I was too preoccupied with the memory of taking his ugly head off his shoulders. I felt no remorse when I did so and no mercy, even though he pleaded me to spare his life at the end. On some instinctual level I knew he had a hand in father's death, but, had I known what Sansa just told me back then, maybe I would have even enjoyed taking his life.

"Yes. Him. How do you know him?"

She inquired as her eyes narrowed in two slits and her forehead crumpled in concentration. She looked as if she was trying to fish the information right out of my mind…

"He was one of my… brothers in Caste Black, but from the beginning there had been bad blood between us."

"Was he one of them? One of the people who stabbed you I mean."

Sansa asked softly, stretching her hand towards me and passing it lightly over the two scars on my chest, as if she knew exactly where they were, even though she had never seen them. I was transfixed by the feel of her hands on me, but the moment I felt her hand trail lower, to my abdomen, I recoiled from her as if she had stung me, feeling guilty for the pleasure her touch brought me.

She put her hand back on top of her skirts, tossing me an apologetic look. My mind was still hazy, but I couldn't stop myself from asking the question that was on the tip of my tongue.

"How did you…? You've never seen them…"

I mumbled confused and I saw her gently bite her lip again in nervousness.

"I- I saw them yesterday night Jon…"

She said hesitantly and suddenly I realized that yesterday's dream had not been a dream after all.

"I thought it was a dream."

I said sheepishly and I felt my face burn in embarrassment. Sansa seemed equally embarrassed, avoiding my eyes while wringing her fingers. Awkward silence fell in the room yet again for a few moments, only to be broken by her sharp inhale.

"You didn't answer my question, about Slynt."

She said, almost accusingly and I rummaged through my mind in search for her earlier question that had been wiped away from my memory by her tender touch. Finally it came back to me, and with her question, returned also the perverse satisfaction I had felt when I realized earlier that I had avenged my father by killing that scum.

"No he wasn't one of them. I had already taken his head by then, for refusing to obey my direct orders as his Lord Commander."

I told her with a wolfish grin and she gasped. Her blue eyes were shining with myriads of emotions I had no way of deciphering. Awe and disbelief were the most prominent, but there were so many more…

"Truly?"

She asked incredulously and I gave her an affirmative nod. Sansa took a deep breath, as if to speak, but she probably regretted it and remained silent instead. She was obviously deep in thought, whereas I was struggling to stop thinking about tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

We were both startled by Ghost's appearance. He walked silently through the door, with snow melting on his fur and promptly approached us. He walked past me and stood before Sansa. A heartbeat later he was nuzzling her legs through her skirts with his tail wagging back and forth in happiness. Her hand fell on his fur automatically to pet him and suddenly, I was Ghost, enjoying her divine touch while taking in her scent.

I shoved Ghost out of my head feeling deeply shaken and disturbed. The wolf's feelings for Sansa, his instincts in regards to her were too much to process. Ghost had no words to describe what he believed Sansa was to me, but I had, and that four letter word was too much.

 _Mate._

My mind whispered to me, shocking me to my core.

 _No!_

I shouted at myself, but I was no longer me. I was Ghost again and I was shouting at him; at us.

 _She is our sister! This isn't right!_

But the wolf didn't even care enough to state an argument.

Ygritte's words came back to me.

 _That's vile. Would you bed your sister? You know nothing Jon Snow._

"Jon, are you all right?"

Our female said to my body beside her, but I was not a man, I was a wolf… and then, through sheer power of will, I was a man again, completely separate from Ghost.

"Yes… I mean no. I… I need to rest I think."

I stuttered breathlessly and I saw her nod and smile at me as she left gracefully, biding me a good night. Ghost left with her, but his thoughts lingered in my mind, the same way the taste of blood often did after our hunt, poisoning my mind; the implications making me feel sick and elated at the same time, because…

 _Wolves mate for life._


	9. Chapter 9

**I wanted to show you a glimpse of what is happening in Winterfell and since Reek is still there, I used his POV. Obviously many things remained the same, as his presence doesn't really change anything. Obviously all recognizable dialogues belong to HBO.**

 **REEK**

Out in the yard, the walls of the snow trenches had risen high, higher than ever, blocking out the view from the windows of the Great Keep.

Not that I was looking out…

 _No, I must always look down, except if Lord Ramsay commands me to look elsewhere._

I thought as I concentrated on the fissures and cracks of the stone floor. Lord Ramsay was supping with his lord father, feasting on roasted goat that was served on a bed of sliced onions and I was standing on the corner, waiting to serve them hot spiced wine from the pitcher I was holding. The air was heavy with the smell of delicious food and I heard my empty stomach grumble in response.

I felt Lord Ramsay's eyes on me, piercing me like daggers at the unmistakable sign of my hunger.

"Are you hungry Reek?"

I heard him ask in mock-concern and I knew without looking that his pale eyes would be glinting in the candlelight. I did not know what to say, but I knew I had to say something, else he would turn wroth. The wrong answer would cost me another finger and I didn't have that many to spare.

"N… no milord. I would never steal from your food milord."

I replied meekly, with my head still down.

 _My name is Reek, Reek… rhymes with meek._

A sing-song voice said to me in my mind as I held my breath, waiting for his reply.

"Leave your plaything alone. There are more important things that require your attention."

His Lord father said in his soft whispered voice and I let myself breathe once again. Breathing was agony though. I was certain Lord Ramsay had broken at least two of my ribs three nights ago; the night he found out his bride had been stolen. He had kicked me until I passed out and now I was black and blue with newly formed bruises.

 _My Lord was merciful though. It could have been worse._

I thought with a shudder as I remembered how he had flayed alive five of the guards that had patrols on the walls that night. They had sounded like pigs getting slaughtered; they had sounded like Theon Greyjoy, those times Lord Ramsay took the skin off his fingers and toes.

"−search parties are lost in the snows, unable to see what lies a foot ahead of them. They will never find her and they shouldn't have had to in the first place, had you heeded my advice and refrained from playing your games with the heir to Winterfell."

Lord Roose reprimanded his son as he sipped some wine off his goblet to wash down the food. He had not raised the tone of his voice, but his anger was all too clear.

"I was supposed to be hunting down the ungrateful whore! My bitches would have sniffed her out for me; her and the bastard who stole her."

"You forget yourself surely. You would never have hunted down your sweet wife. You would have rescued her from the traitor Lord-Commander and ushered her back to the safety of her home. Alas, you are the Lord of Winterfell and my heir. I could not let you go out in the snows and risk our future so foolishly."

"How can we prove that it was the bastard? He could have sent somebody else."

"It certainly was him. The edge of his sword gave him away. Nothing cuts through bone quite like Valyrian steel. His mistake will cost him dearly. By stealing your wife he gave us a viable reason to make a move against him and relieve him of his position; and of his head of course."

His father replied and I felt myself start to tremble slightly. When I was still a man, I used to know the person they were talking about and the prospect of him, facing the wrath of the Boltons made me sick.

"No it's too good of a death for him!"

The Bastard replied, seething, and the thud of his fist on the table made me turn my gaze to where they sat.

"He stole my bride from me! It's only fitting that I feed him to my girls after I make him watch his whore sister get fucked by our whole garrison."

Lord Ramsay said with a terrible, cruel smile on his face that did nothing to hide his anger. It was obvious by the curl of his lips and the way the cords on his neck stood out. On the other hand, his father appeared impassive, but his anger was like a mist that filled the room, chocking me.

"You will do no such thing. Jon Snow will be beheaded before the whole North and you will take back your wife and plant a son in her womb that will undoubtedly be your own and nobody else's."

He replied coldly as he took a bite off his food and chewed silently. I knew I should turn my gaze away, but I couldn't tear my eyes off _him_. His smile had died, his nostrils were flared, a vein on his forehead was pulsing and he was griping his knife so tightly, I thought for a moment he was about to plunge it into his father's eye, but, in a heartbeat, all traces of anger were gone and he sported again that signature amused grin of his.

"And after she gives me that son?"

"Then you can do whatever you wish with her and we shall say she died giving birth to the heir to Winterfell."

His father informed him, sounding almost bored, as if he was commenting on the weather. A flash of pain shot through me and I realized it was because I had gasped aloud. Lord Ramsay's eyes were once more on me and I caved in on myself, becoming as small as possible. I had not meant to do that and I knew I would get punished later for it.

"Until then, I had requested they send us some girls from the dungeons of the Dreadfort, so you can indulge in your amusements discreetly. I believe they'll be here any day now, along with a thousand more soldiers."

"You are too considerate father."

Ramsay scoffed and took a bite off his meat. His lord father ignored him completely, continuing his meal unaffected by his tone.

"Are we going to fight the whole Night's Watch with only our three thousand Bolton and Hornwood men?"

He asked him mockingly.

"Don't ask stupid questions, it does not become you."

Lord Roose replied as he gestured for more wine with a flick of his fingers. I hobbled over to the table as fast as I could and poured the wine carefully, trying not to spill too much with my clumsy hands.

"I sent a raven to every Keep in the North, calling the banners just this morning."

"Do you think they will come?"

"If they want to keep their kin in the Twins safe, they will come."

"I don't mean the Manderly's and the Umbers, or the Karstarks. They will come all right. I mean everyone else."

Ramsay said with his mouth full of food and I saw Lord Roose's mouth twitch in disgust.

 _It's no wonder with me standing so near. Even I can smell the stench of my body…_

I thought and limped back to my corner with haste.

"I'm afraid we hold no leverage over the Manderly's anymore. Lord Wyman took it upon himself to begin negotiations with Tywin Lannister and unfortunately, he managed to strike a deal with him before his untimely death, so his son will be returning to him, if he has not already."

"How could you let this happen?"

Ramsay seethed.

"You would do well to mind your tone when you talk to me bastard. I made you what you are and I can unmake you just as easily."

He said with an amused smile that sent chills down my spine. I had no idea there existed another smile that was more terrifying that Lord Ramsay's, but apparently I had been mistaken in my assumption. I watched as Ramsay's face reddened in fury at his father's statement, but instead of lashing out at him, he turned his gaze towards me.

 _Oh no! He saw me looking when I shouldn't have been. Please, please, please… I didn't mean to!_

I thought as I saw the all too familiar bloodcurdling smile of his on his lips. There was no mistake. My pleadings were for naught.

"No matter."

His father said, drawing his attention once again away from me.

"We will make do with what we have. After all the Night's Watch is in tatters… But make no mistake; we are in a very precarious position. When Littlefinger wrote us he had Sansa Stark and that he was willing to part from her, he handed us the whole North on a silver platter, but now that you let her slip out of your fingers, we must tread carefully, lest we make more enemies than we can fight against."

Roose Bolton cautioned with thinly veiled contempt as he rose from his seat.

"We shall continue our talk tomorrow. Now I believe my young wife is waiting for me."

He said with a smirk as he stepped out the door, leaving me alone with Lord Ramsay.

"My pig lady mother… I bet she even squeals like one when he mounts her, don't you think so Reek?"

He asked me with a snicker as he got up from his seat and came towards me, no doubt bringing the picture in his mind. The boy I was before would have laughed with his comment and agreed, but now I could only refrain from openly cringing.

"I asked you a question!"

He spat at my face, as he grasped my chin between his fingers with bruising force, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"I wouldn't know your lordship."

I managed to croak and he slapped me hard on my right cheek, busting my lip with his golden ring. I sucked the blood in my mouth absentmindedly, but I did not dare look away from his eerie pale eyes.

"I believe you have forgotten your place again Reek… but it's my fault. I had neglected reminding you for all these months."

He said as he caressed the cheek he just slapped, smiling almost tenderly at me. Had there not been all that cruelty in his eyes, his smile could have even passed as genuine…

"Take off your clothes."

He ordered me and I hastily obliged, fumbling at the laces of my breeches with my maimed fingers. The request was all too familiar, even though it's been many moons since the last time he made it. He had been very enthusiastic in… _bedding_ his new wife, but now that she was not here…

"Look at you… filthy and ugly… You disgust me Reek."

He said the moment I stood naked before him. I willed myself to keep the trembling at bay and appear as meek and submissive as possible in order to please him.

 _My lord is merciful and kind. If I'm good he won't hurt me. It's always my fault when he hurts me. I give him no choice. I just have to please him._

I thought as he pinned me to the wall. I cried out in pain the moment my broken ribs were smashed brutally on the cold stone. He only pressed harder…

* * *

Dawn found me in the Godswood, walking around aimlessly just as I did every day. Amidst the ancient wood, I could almost picture myself feeling serene, but the ghosts of the past were there, following me with hateful and accusing eyes. They were all there; Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Robb, Arya, Bran, baby Rickon… and soon Jon Snow would be added to them.

 _If the gods are good, it would take a while for Sansa to join them as well, but she certainly will, before the year is out._

I thought grimly as I focused on the trees around me. They appeared different with all that snow and ice encompassing them, but their shapes were familiar as well. The top of the heart tree at the center of the Wolfswood was more white than red and the sap that had sprung from the eyes of its carved face had frozen solid, resembling twin rubies. The pond on its base had frozen over many nights ago, but the hot springs were bubbling hot as ever, smelling of sulfur and bringing back memories of a time before I knew my name.

 _I must remember my name. It's Reek, reek, reek…_

I reminded myself over and over again as I fled from the Wolfswood to avoid the dangerous memories. Snow was falling steadily from the sky, to the dismay of the men that were in the yard, shoveling it away from the paths. I walked past their hunched forms and I heard them mutter "bloody tunkcloak" and spit on the snow in contempt, but I ignored them. After all, my name was Reek.

The wind carried the sound of a horn from outside the walls, so I hobbled over to the North Gate, where I thought the sound came from. As I came closer, I could hear the unmistakable sound of the frozen chains rattling and groaning as the gate rose higher and I knew my assessment was correct. The path I was walking on took a sharp turn and suddenly the gate was gaping open before me. Snow soldiers marched through it, flying the banners of the flayed man and coming rapidly towards me with heavy footsteps. I cowered close to the snow wall to make room for them. They appeared to be bundled in many layers of furs and wools, but the snow had coated them in white, making them appear as if they were snowmen, built by children.

When it seemed like there was no end to them, I saw the last line of soldiers pass before me.

 _No, they are not all soldiers… some of them are too small and the soldiers are practically dragging them forward._

I thought and I suddenly realized those were the women Roose Bolton had ordered for his son's perverse pleasure. Even though they would partially engage his attention, drawing it away from me, I felt no relief in the prospect, only pity for those poor girls.

 _Well, at least they are not Sansa…_

A small, treacherous voice inside my head whispered to me and I shook my head vehemently in denial, as if to shake the thought away, lest Lord Ramsay somehow found out about it.

 _He always finds out in the end._

Having nothing else to occupy my time with, I followed them close behind, without drawing their attention. Most of the soldiers headed to the guard's hall, but five of them continued towards the kennels, where I had my own bed; if a pile of flea infested straws could be called a bed. I hid in the shadows of a small alcove and waited for the soldiers to leave in order to see the new girls. Even though I was not a man able to save them, I could at least try to help them please him, teach them the rules of the game and maybe then they would not have to be punished.

 _If they are good, obedient girls, his lordship will not hurt them. They just have to please him._

I thought as I waited for the men to leave. It only took a few moments for them to exit the kennels. One of them was making a bawdy joke about some kitchen-wench and the others laughed along as they disappeared amidst the snow trenches. I pushed at the door and it opened with its typical screech to reveal a room that had certainly seen better days. When it was under the care of Farlen the kennelmaster, it had been clean and tidy, but now it smelled as bad as me and the floor was strewn with all manner of filth.

I ignored the empty cells that belonged to the Bastard's bitches and walked deeper into the narrow room. It was not long before I was met with the first girl. The moment my eyes fell on her auburn hair I felt my stomach drop with dread, but in the next heartbeat I realized it was not Sansa.

 _She is too small and the hair is the wrong shade._

I observed and a sigh of relief left my chest. The moment she heard me, she raised her head from her knees and met my eyes with her tired brown ones.

 _Beth Cassel._

I realized with a start and that sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach returned with a vengeance. Even though it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since I last saw her, I recognized her immediately. The same couldn't be said about her. She looked at me as if I was a stranger and I couldn't blame her. Not even I had recognized my reflection in the looking-glass when I saw it for the first time since I learned my name.

I turned around and flew out of the kennels like a bat out of hell, unable to abide her haunting gaze for a moment longer.

* * *

"We scoured the Wolfswood milord, heading north along with Yellow-Dick's party, but we split up when we came upon a second trail, leading west. We followed the one to the west milord, all the way to Deepwood Motte, but on its end we only found this and no girl."

Sour Alyn reported as he passed the Bastard a piece of black cloth. I had no chance to see Lord Ramsay's reaction, as Kyra and Willow came crashing on me, throwing me on the ground. The acute pain on my ribs was replaced by the feel of Kyra's sharp teeth gnawing on the remaining fingers of my left hand, as Willow licked my face. In the next heartbeat they were both off me and in the hands of Ben Bones, who led them to the kennels.

When I got up, I stole a glance at Lord Ramsay. He was dressed in fine clothes, as befit the Lord of Winterfell. His mantle was made of wolfskins stitched together to keep away the cold and underneath he wore a black leather doublet, very finely embroidered, but even then he looked nothing like a Lord. The scowl on his thick lips surely didn't help with his image. He was positively rabid. Lord Ramsay could not tolerate failure and he would need to punish somebody for it tonight.

The search party dismounted and led their horses to the stables after Lord Ramsay dismissed them. The Bastard of Bolton turned around then and walked towards the Great Keep. I followed him like a shadow, or, more accurately, a limping shadow. Upon entering the building he unclasped the brooch of his mantle and rushed up the stairs. I hesitated for a moment at the bottom step, but I decided to follow him until he gave me another order.

He burst inside Ned Stark's solar−

 _No, no no! It is Lord Bolton's solar now!_

I frantically reminded myself as I walked through the wide open door, closing it gingerly behind me at Lord Roose's gesture.

"The bastard is making a fool of us!"

Ramsay screeched at his father, white spittle flying from his thick lips as he threw the black piece of cloth at his feet. Lord Roose's only reply was a single raised eyebrow.

"He took her through the Wolfswood, but he played us with false trails. Nobody plays me! I am the one who plays with my prey!"

"If this is true, then they must have already reached Long Lake and our patrols will find them soon enough. And even if, by some miracle, they escape and reach the Wall, we will destroy him and his friends with our army and put a new Lord Commander in place. You just have to be patient."

Roose Bolton told him, his whispered voice a stark contrast to Ramsay's screeching.

"I'm sick of waiting on the pleasure of the likes of Lord-too-fat and Crowfood Umber! We already have an army of four thousand men outside our walls, waiting for our order to march! Are we going to sit here and wait for the bastard and his Wildlings?"

Ramsay asked pointedly.

"I don't see why it would be such a terrible idea. After all we are inside a well-stocked castle and they have no means to storm it. Most likely, the winter will do for them and we will find their bones come spring. And I'm sure your wife will be begging us to let her come inside once she gets a taste of winter."

Roose Bolton said and I saw the Bastard clench his jaw and redden in anger at his father's plan, obviously disagreeing with it.

"I want the bastard to suffer and die at MY hands! I want my bride back and I want her right NOW, not come spring!"

He shouted at him and I cringed back, pressing my back on the stone wall as if I wanted to become one with it.

"Sometimes you truly make me wonder whether I truly sired you with that hotheadedness of yours. If you are not careful it will be your undoing."

His father told him coldly.

"You read Arnolf Karstark's letter yourself. The Wildlings are nearing Winterfell as we speak. The bastard will be with them, along wi−"

"Arnolf Karstark may mention in his letter two thousand Wildlings marching south on behalf of Jon Snow, but he also speaks of giants and wargs amongst them. He claims Jon Snow died at the hands of his sworn brothers a moon past and in the very next sentence he asserts that he had been resurrected by a sorceress. And the most alarming part is that he believes this wild tale, making me at least question loyalty, if not his sanity. I guess in his next letter he can warn us about the Others and a dragon."

The Lord of the Dreadfort cut in dismissively.

"I wouldn't care even if the bastard is a bloody dragon himself! He has my bride and I will have her back, no matter what!"

The Bastard seethed with malice, sounding furious. His father made to speak, but a sharp knock on the door brought him to a stop. He gestured me to open it, so I complied, coming face-to-face with Damon Dance-for-me and his cocky grin.

"My lords, Lord Cregan Karstark is without and requests urgent audience."

He told them with a much more solemn expression.

"Send him in."

Roose Bolton urged him and he dashed out to comply, throwing a mocking smile my way as he exited the room.

"We will continue this conversation later."

Lord Roose told him, but Ramsay was looking at me. I could always tell by the way the hairs at the back of my neck rose.

"At least try to appear civil. You don't want him to take you for a rabid dog."

He said in his spidery soft voice only a moment before there was another knock on the door. I opened it, as before and chanced a gaze towards Lord Ramsay, to determine whether he still wanted me here or not, but he ignored me once again, too preoccupied with exchanging pleasantries with the Karstark son. He was exactly as I remembered him from the last time I saw him, a lifetime ago, on his wedding to his second wife. Ned Stark had taken Robb, Sansa and I along with him to Karhold for the wedding and the feast…

 _No, that couldn't have been me. That was another boy. My name is Reek; goes with leek._

"So, what brings you to Winterfell my lord?"

"Private, important matters."

Cregan Karstark replied as he threw a pointed look my way. I made no move to leave. I was Lord Ramsay's to command and none other's. I knew my place.

"Leave us Reek. Lord Karstark can't abide your stinking presence."

Lord Ramsay ordered me, his voice cracking like a whip and I scurried off on clumsy maimed feet, to roam the yard once again.

* * *

As night drew near I became more fidgety. It had grown late, but he still hadn't sent for one of his toys. The three previous nights he sent for Beth Cassel, but this night, I was sure it was my turn. The way he looked at me when we were inside the solar was unmistakable. I looked at my remaining fingers, wondering which one I would lose tonight and hoping he wouldn't be cruel enough to take a thumb.

I couldn't abide the wait any longer, so I got up to investigate. Something was wrong. Something was definitely very much wrong and I had to find out what, else I would go crazy…

I fumbled with the flint to light a torch and when I succeeded, I walked out the door and into the freezing cold. I navigated through the paths dug in the snow, taking the one that led to the Great Keep, as snow fell from the sky, coating my hair. The closer I got, the more disturbed I felt and suddenly I realized the reason. It was eerily silent. Usually the guards outside would be passing around a skin of ale by the fire, sharing jokes and stories. The wind would carry their laughter and their voices all the way inside the trenches, making it echo, but tonight I could hear nothing but the wind.

 _Are they dead again?_

I wondered, remembering how we found the four beheaded guards the morning after Lady Bolton's abduction. Somehow the thought did not make me feel scared in the least. If someone had killed the guards, they would probably kill me too and a quick painless death was more than I could have hoped for. I snuffed out my torch and approached cautiously nonetheless, trying to approach undetected on the presumed attacker in order to find out his identity.

The moment I took the last turn, I heard hushed voices, bantering about something. I got closer still, crouching down on the snow to listen in. In the end the guards were not dead; far from it. They were alive and well, but something else was amiss.

"−Betty said it was the shade of Eddard Stark who came through the floor and stabbed him through the heart and left him to bleed on the floor."

"Jun told me that one of the Bastard's Boys, claimed his son did it for him, to become Lord Bolton himself."

"No, it was an assassin sent by Lord Ramsay's wife. One of those faceless men across the sea who… with…"

I got up and left, letting their quiet voices fade. I had heard enough to understand what had happened. Lord Ramsay had killed his father sometime during the meeting with Cregan Karstark. It obviously was an impulsive move, but it surely was a premeditated murder all the same. That was the way Ramsay operated. He would seize the momentary opportunity to strike and get the result he wanted. Cregan Karstark must have told them something that made them disagree enough for Ramsay to decide it was the right time to rid himself of his father, but I had no idea what that thing was and I probably would never find out.

My feet had taken me back to the kennels, where my straw-bed awaited me at the last cell to the left. Kyra and Willow were chained and sleeping when I passed their cells, but I could hear a girl crying up ahead with muffled sobs. It could have been none other than Beth. After all, the Bastard had not yet touched any of the other four since they arrived three days ago. He would probably use them for a hunt, but Beth was special. Beth was Sansa's replacement, with her auburn hair, her pale skin and her haughty posture; the one only highborn girls had.

 _She even sounds the same as Sansa when she cries._

I thought as I hurried over to my own cell. I lay on the cold and damp straws, covering myself as best as I could with my mangy blanket hoping I would fall into a dreamless sleep for once…

* * *

I was woken up by the barking of the dogs. I was curled on the hay, holding my threadbare blanket close to my body, trying to protect myself from the freezing cold and failing miserably.

"Where is Lord Bolton?"

Asked a woman, I immediately recognized as Fat Walda. Her voice sounded frightened as it travelled all the way to my cell, audible despite the loud barking. There was also another sound, shrill and insistent that I could not put a name on.

"DOWN!"

Shouted Ramsay and the barking stopped. That shrill sound continued though and I realized it was a baby crying.

 _Oh Gods help them… she gave birth to a boy, that's why he killed him._

I thought to myself with chagrin as I hugged my knees to my chest, burying my face there, as if to shield myself from the atrocities that would surely follow.

"It's alright. It's alright. Come on…"

Lady Bolton said to her son, trying to make him stop crying. I heard one of the cell's doors open with a groan and then her panicked voice again.

"It's cold down here Ramsay. I need to feed him."

 _Stupid, stupid girl… Leave! Leave now!_

Another door opened.

"Ramsay, where is your father?"

She asked, but got no reply from him.

 _He is dead and rotting somewhere…_

"Ramsay, where is Lord Bolton?"

She insisted.

"I am Lord Bolton."

He finally said and I imagined the expression on her face. She had a circular face, like a moon, but surely it must have crumpled in surprise and deep dark fear…

"Ramsay. Ramsay, please. I'll leave Winterfell. I'll go back to the Riverlands… Please."

She said, almost in tears, but got no response from him. The look in his eyes was surely one I was too familiar with. I could almost see it right before me; every detail of his haunting, cruel face etched deeply in my memory.

"Ramsay, he's your brother!"

She told him pleadingly, desperately grasping at straws to save her son's life.

 _I don't want to be here… I don't want to hear this… I can't!_

I thought, frozen in place. I knew what was coming.

"I prefer being an only child."

He replied and gave the whistle for "attack".

Even though I had crushed my ears with my hands, I could still hear their screams and the sound flesh made when the dog's teeth ripped it off their body. I could still hear the bones breaking with a sickening crunch and the growls of the dogs as they ate their fill…

It took a long time for it all to end. When I took my hands off my ears I felt moisture on my face, that had ran down to my tunic, drenching it. I wiped my face with my filthy hands, expecting to see them coated in crimson blood. They came back the same color as they were before though, and I realized that it was not blood but tears.

 _I had no idea I could still cry for somebody else…_

I thought as I hastily wiped them off my face in case Lord Ramsay came this way. The last time I had cried for somebody else, was the night of Sansa's wedding to the Bastard of Bolton. Since then, he made me watch numerous times as he defiled her body, yet I hadn't shed a single tear for her. I was sure that meant the rot had finally consumed my whole heart, but apparently there had been a small piece intact that probably just turned black with rot as well.

"Up-up Reek!"

Lord Ramsay said cheerfully from the open door of my cell and I obliged, getting to my feet.

"Won't you congratulate the new Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North on his position?"

He asked as buoyantly as before and I raised my gaze to look at him. The smile on his face was wide and joyful, just like it was every time after a hunt, or after flaying and cutting a finger. I felt like retching, but swallowed the bile in my throat to speak.

"Congratulations my lord. I wish you a lengthy and prosperous rule."

I said mechanically, drawing the words from some long forgotten place in my mind; one that belonged to a prince.

"Now I believe the Warden of the North has petitions to hear, letters to write and arrangements to make, and _you_ Reek are going to pour the Warden of the North's wine."

"I'll be honored my lord."

I told him as I followed him out the door and into the Great Hall through the snow trenches. The smell of food inside the building was still wafting in the air, potent and very mouth-watering. The grumble of my stomach was silent enough to go unnoticed and I thanked the gods for that small mercy, as well as for the glorious heat that filled the room. I could feel it permeate my flesh, reaching all the way to my very bones, melting the icicles that had surely formed in the marrow.

I stood behind Lord Bolton's seat, holding a pitcher of wine, ready to pour whenever he bid me to. Lord Cregan Karstark sat beside him and Maester Tybald stood in the shadows, constantly straightening his chain and robes to sit better on his sloped shoulders.

Small-folk came and went, asking for compensations, for better wages, for justice against a thief or a rapist and Lord Ramsay toyed with them in the cruelest way. He taunted them, he withheld their wages for daring ask for more and he even had a farmer killed for accusing the Boltons of stealing his family's crops. As the man bled all over the stone floor, Lord Ramsay mocked him, telling him he did his family a kindness ridding them of one more mouth to feed during winter.

It was midmorning when the people stopped coming and Ramsay called for a pot of ink and parchment. Before I had the chance to move my stiff and cramped legs, the Maester hurried to provide them to him. The Bastard pored over the parchment for a long time, filling it with his huge ugly letters and undoubtedly his equally ugly words. I could have read it, had I wanted to, but I didn't. Nothing good would come of it.

Suddenly the sound of a horn came from outside, making Lord Ramsay stop writing his letter before finishing it. He looked at Cregan Karstark questioningly and he just raised his shoulders in ignorance. We didn't wait for long, as Sour Allyn came through the door, announcing the arrival of Whoresbane Umber at the gates.

Lord Bolton gave the command to let him in and waited for the Umber's arrival, twirling the quill between his fingers, his unfinished letter completely forgotten before him.

Whoresbane entered the Great Hall a few moments later, clad in furs and leathers that made him appear stout as a bear, but his gaunt face proved that this was not the case. His long beard was white as snow, making him look older than his years, but his black eyes had not in the least dimmed by age.

Whoresbane, as it appeared, had not come out of love for the Boltons but out of necessity. The Wildlings had infested their lands and they needed help to deal with them, so they turned to the Warden of the North. Apparently, Whoresbane expected to find Roose in this position, but he adjusted quickly enough, bantering back and forth with Ramsay about pledging fealty, swearing vows and kneeling; all of them things Hother Umber had no intent of doing.

"Fuck kneeling, and fuck oaths. I've got a gift for you."

The Umber said with a sly smile and made a signal to the man on the door.

"A girl I hope. I prefer readheads."

Ramsay said, sounding bored and disinterested.

"A girl, aye."

He replied with a laugh as two hooded figures were dragged inside. One was taller than the other, but still short in comparison to Hother's height.

"A wild one."

He said as he took off the hood of the taller person. The shaking started the moment I saw her face. Under the hood was Osha the Wildling who helped in the kitchens when the Ironborn sacked Winterfell. She had disappeared along with the two boys, never to be seen again…

"I like them wild."

The Bastard replied as he got up, sounding very much intrigued. I was still shaking. The wine in the pitcher was sloshing around and dripping on the floor, on my clothes; on my shoes.

 _Please, please gods no!_

"And the boy; nice and young. The way Karstark likes them."

Whoresbane scoffed and I faintly heard a chair scrape the floor through the buzzing in my ears. Then he took the hood off the second person.

 _Rickon._

I thought as the pitcher fell off my hands and crashed on the floor.

They kept on talking, not even sparing a glance my way, as I was slowly spiraling into madness.

 _He can't be here. He is supposed to be dead, dead, dead…_

 _Lies, lies, lies… All lies Reek…_

 _It's not real. This isn't happening. It's just a dream, a nightmare…_

 _No, he is here, alive, only to die again and it will be your fault once more!_

 _No, that was Theon Greyjoy's fault. I'm not him! I'm Reek, reek, reek, reekreekreek…_

"Welcome home Lord Stark."

I heard the Bastard tell him in mockery. That was the final drop that pushed me over the edge. I fell into darkness, floating away in the land of ghosts. I could see them getting nearer… Robb was in front of me and he spat at Reek's face, only for a crying Bran to take his place, who pleaded Theon Greyjoy to show mercy. Then Sansa was standing before Reek, bruised and bloody, begging him to help her with tears in her eyes, but when I came closer, she became Lady Catelyn, holding a dagger in her hand; a dagger that she plunged into Theon Greyjoy's bowels, twisting it violently while calling him "turncloak". Then she became solemn Ned Stark. He was holding Ice above Reek's head, letting it fall on his neck with all of his strength… And then I was somewhere above, watching my head part from my shoulders, but the face that looked back at me was neither Reek's nor Theon Greyjoy's. It was Ramsay Bolton's…


	10. Chapter 10

**SANSA**

The weak winter sun was high in the sky, providing little warmth amidst the frozen northern mountains. I was riding my white palfrey on the path that had been cleared from snow a few days before our march, by the men of the mountain clans. Artos Flint had come to ride beside me, taking advantage of Ghost's brief disappearance to make polite conversation. He was quite a jovial fellow and he was comely enough for a northerner, with his curly brown hair and the dimples on his cheeks that were constantly visible due to his ever-present smile. Despite all that, his presence beside me unnerved me and every time his knee brushed mine, when the path became narrower, my shoulders would stiffen.

Still, I talked to him in the way my mother had taught me a lifetime ago, with polished courtesies that befit a lady, until Ghost returned, to scare him away with growls and bared fangs, following the pattern that was set on the first day of our march with the rest of the unwed, highborn clansmen. They all came, one after the other, and since Ghost had no tolerance for them, they would come only when he was away, making it almost look like a child's game. It was as if the albino direwolf knew my fear of men and he strived to protect me from them.

They used various excuses for coming to ride beside me, but I knew what they all had in mind… If the gods were good, we would win and I would be a widow. A widow, whose hand in marriage, was worth killing for, as it was the key to the North; taking into no account my claim to the Riverlands through my mother's side. My virginity, or the lack of thereof, seemed not to hinder them in their advances and my pretty face surely was an added bonus for them, but they would surely reconsider should they see the ruin that was my body.

The only man who avoided me like the plague was Jon. Ever since the night I told him what I had done in King's Landing, he couldn't abide my presence and the only times I caught him looking at me, his eyes were hard as stone and gave nothing away. Even though I knew that outcome had been a possibility, somehow, that night when I went to bed, I had naively believed he would understand and that he would even give me the thing I craved for the most; his forgiveness.

 _He may have a big heart, but what I did is unforgivable. How could I even expect him to forgive me when I can't even forgive myself?_

I wondered wryly as I looked ahead to the snowy mountaintops that glistened like diamonds in the sun. The landscape was eerily similar to the one in the mountains of the Moon, with all that rock encompassed in snow and ice and the crisp cold air that smelled of snow and pine-needles. This time though, I was riding a horse, as befit the Lady of Winterfell, with an army on my back, set on reclaiming my home. On the other hand, as I climbed to the Eyrie, I was riding a mule in the company of Petyr Baelish. I was a fugitive pretending to be his bastard daughter and I was simply looking for a safe place to hide from Cercei's wrath.

In the end the Vale hadn't been safe at all… Aunt Lysa was a demented woman who tried to throw me out the Moon Door, Sweetrobin was a sick, spoilt child, who was afraid of everything and Littlefinger was a scheming whoremonger who told me he cared for me and then sold me to the highest bidder in order to promote his own agenda.

And now I was on my way of promoting my own agenda with flattery, courtesy and tears; the weapons of a lady. I had already started spinning my own web, stroking the young men's egos in order to have them protect Jon during the battle. I took advantage of their advances towards me to ask them of that favor, with tears glistening in my eyes. Obviously, all of them swore they would give their last breath to protect the only brother I had left. My plan may be much more intricate than that, but, for it to work, Jon had to stay alive.

 _Stop it! Jon is not a pawn. Plans can be changed, but Jon… Jon has to live. He is the only family I have left…_

I thought as I felt Ghost's massive head bush against my leg affectionately, easily reaching my calf as he walked beside my palfrey. If it hadn't been for him I would have been completely alone all those days, as there were no ladies present except from me. I lowered my right hand from the reigns and stooped lower to pet him behind his ears lovingly, ignoring the pull of my wounds that had just begun to mend. The great white beast had scarcely left my side in the past three days, as if to make up for his master's disdain towards me. He slept beside me at night in our small tent, pressing his huge, warm body close to mine, to share his warmth with me, and he followed me during the day, giving me his undivided attention.

 _Old Nan used to say that skinchangers and their animal were of one mind, sharing the same thoughts and feelings, but obviously she had been wrong…_

I thought to myself as I searched for Jon in the front lines. My eyes were immediately drawn to him. He was wearing the clothes I had made for him, along with his Valyrian steel sword. He was riding his white destrier with his back straight and his head held up high, looking like a hero from a song, even though such heroes were not supposed to exist.

 _He doesn't just look like a hero. Jon is a hero; my hero._

I thought with a sad smile. I hadn't even told him that night how I had wished for a hero to come take Slynt's head when I was in King's Landing. I was too embarrassed to admit I had been such a stupid little girl and the moment passed, without me even thanking him.

It was quite ironic, how my bastard half-brother at the Wall had accomplished what all the shouthron knights combined could not. He had taken Slynt's head, avenging our father, he had saved me from Ramsay and he had even started a campaign on my behalf to take back Winterfell…

I could picture Jon's brooding face in my mind's eye. All I could see though was the back of his head, with his black curls that bounced with every step his horse took. I missed him terribly. I had just gotten him back and, thanks to my stupidity, I had lost him all over again… I had tried many times to approach him, but he continuously eluded me.

And even though I had expected him to hate me, when expectation became reality, it hurt more than I had anticipated. It hurt so much that the first two nights I cried myself to sleep in the privacy of my tent.

He wanted nothing to do with me, but today I would talk to him, no matter what. It was necessary for him to know at least part of my plan and agree to it. Else, I would have to think of another, in order to protect us in the future from our 'bannermen' and Littlefinger alike. Of course we would have to defeat the Boltons first, but I couldn't sit idle and not plan ahead. It would be foolish and dangerous to let somebody else shape the political structure of the North in our absence.

I didn't want to talk to him about the plan though. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness. I wanted us to be in good terms again. I wanted us to take back our home together and to be a family again. I wanted him to trust me and most of all I wanted him to −

My thoughts were interrupted by the Wull, who came to ride beside me, taking the place Artos Flint had vacated only moments before.

 _He is breaking the rules of the game… they are supposed to come only when Ghost is away._

"How are you today Lady Stark?"

He asked with fatherly concern.

"I'm quite well my Lord. I'm enjoying the view actually. The northern mountains have a wild beauty to them that is hard to come by."

"Aye, they are beautiful, but terrible during winter. Many a good man have lost their lives in those mountains."

He said solemnly as he reigned in his horse that was bucking in fear with Ghost so near.

"Ah yes, I remember father telling me once how the old men of the clans go 'hunting' during winter, only to never return again, leaving more food for the young."

I replied and I saw the surprise on his face at my knowledge of such a thing.

"Aye your father spoke true. Brave men all of them."

 _No, not truly. Death is the easy way out. Living on is what takes true bravery to do. I could have died a thousand times over. I could have taken my own life by jumping off a tower and the singers would have sung of my bravery in opposing the Lannisters, or the Boltons with my actions. It was surely expected of me to do it and, had I done it, the whole realm would have called it a noble and brave act; an act of defiance against my captors, as if it would have accomplished anything other than bring further ruin to House Stark._

I thought grimly. But those were not the words the Wull wished to hear.

"All northerners are brave, but, obviously, the men of the mountain clans are the bravest of them all my Lord. It is a great comfort knowing my brother will have such courageous warriors by his side during the battle to protect him."

I said courteously and he bellowed in laughter.

"I doubt your brother will need much protection my Lady. Had you seen him fight, you would have harbored no doubt about it."

He said with a smile on his bearded face, which made his eyes crinkle.

"My brother is skilled swordsman, but in a battle anything can happen and Jon has to live. He is the only surviving son of Eddard Stark after all."

I replied, choosing my words carefully. The Wull already pictured Jon as the head of House Stark. I could see it in the way he looked at him. But he would never voice such a thought when the Ned's trueborn daughter still lived. The seed was already there, so I only had to nurture it. I had to make him see, through seemingly innocent comments, that I did not aspire to be the head of the house and that I wanted to put Jon in this position instead. Jon had not agreed yet, but he would today. I would make sure of it.

"Aye, he is the spitting image of your father when he was his age, gods rest his soul."

Big Bucket said with a reminiscent, sad expression on his face.

"Jon resembles our father more than any of my other brothers did, not only in appearance, but in character as well. He had always been sullen and quiet, but kind as well and honorable to a fault, just like father had been."

I told him with a smile that resembled his, as I remembered watching from my chambers Robb and Jon fight in the yard with wooden swords, while Bran was trying in vain to learn how to fire a bow, a few feet to their left. They had been laughing and teasing each other, all of them; even Jon, who was always moping in a corner…

 _Oh, it had been so sweet… we had all been laughing and playing and running around without a care in the world. Why did I ever want to leave? How could I have been so stupid?_

I wondered and I felt my eyes burn with tears that I couldn't let spill in front of a stranger.

"They say the Young Wolf was also much like your father. I hadn't had the honor of meeting him, but my eldest son Rickard marched with him and he had worshiped the ground he walked upon. In one of his letters he wrote me he would gladly die for him and in the end… he did."

He said looking straight ahead to hide his grief from me, but his voice betrayed his emotions more than his face would.

"I'm sorry for your loss my Lord. I hope he is with the old gods now."

I replied after I cleared my voice. It still sounded hoarse though.

"My son died at the Twins; a cursed place. The old gods have no power there… They say the Freys piled all the bodies in one mass grave just outside the caste, highborn and lowborn alike, leaving them there to rot. I never got my son's bones to bury."

The old man said, hate dripping from his voice. The same hate surged through my veins like poison, because I knew what the Freys had done to my brother after he died. Before my marriage to Ramsay, I hadn't known the details of Robb's death. Obviously, my previous husband, Lord Tyrion, had wanted to spare me the details and it never occurred to me to ask for the gruesome details.

My second husband though, had felt the need to remedy that. He had described the whole thing in great detail, making me vomit the first time I heard it in revulsion. He said they mutilated his body, cutting off his head, along with Grey Wind's, sewing the wolf's head on my brother's decapitated body and nailing a crown on top of it in mockery.

"The North remembers my Lord. We will avenge them all."

I promised him with icy determination. The Wull was stunned for a moment, but in the next he smiled a wide smile at me showing me his crooked teeth.

"Aye, the North remembers… And you are a true daughter of the North my Lady. Your father would have been proud of you."

He told me and I suppressed the grimace that threatened to undo my carefully drawn image.

 _Father would have been disappointed in me and ashamed of me had he known what I had done to survive all those years. And now, if he could see the person I've become, he would have been appalled._

I thought as I thanked him with a smile of my own, as fake as the ones I used in King's Landing when I had to lie to the Queen about my undying love for Joffrey; only this time it was much more believable and efficient.

He rode ahead then, leaving me alone with Ghost once more. It was quite strange, how he let the Wull come near me to talk for so long without growling menacingly at him, as he did with everyone else, but maybe he could feel somehow that I wasn't that scared of him. Maybe he could smell it…

By the time night fell and the men started to make camp, I was feeling as if I had become solid ice. Every muscle in my body was either sore or numb from the cold and I had lost the feeling in my hands and legs hours ago. I dismounted carefully and pressed my cloak closer to my chest, looking around and trying to figure out who would volunteer to set my tent for me tonight. Yesterday night it had been Rickard Liddle and the night before it had been Brandon Norrey. This was another game the men played with Ghost and the rules the direwolf had set were abundantly clear. Raise the tent and leave immediately, or face the consequences. As it seemed, tonight was Artos Flint's turn to face the challenge.

"My lady."

He greeted me with a bow, making no move to come closer to kiss my hand. I returned the courtesy in the same manner, keeping my left hand on Ghost, whose fur had bristled at the man's close proximity.

"May I have the honor of raising your tent tonight?"

He asked most chivalrously with a crooked smile, which died the moment Ghost bared his fangs at him.

"You would do me a great service Ser."

I replied politely, giving him a small smile of my own. He set to work at once and I watched him raise the tent with practiced, deft moves that spoke of experience. He was stealing alarmed glances towards Ghost every few heartbeats, obviously scared of him, as he should be.

"All done Lady Sansa."

He said as he wiped his hands on his breeches. The moment he took a step closer to me, Ghost took a step towards him, with his fangs bared, and that was all it took for him to take his leave as hastily as possible, his reaction making me smile inwardly.

 _Obviously Brandon Norrey was quite vocal about how he got that nasty bite on his left calf._

I thought, as I scanned the opening we had set our camp in for Jon, finding him nowhere. The smell of roasted goat the men had put on their fires, had mixed with the stench of manure the horses had left all over the place, causing my nose to crinkle in disgust. My stomach was empty though and demanded food, so I chose to eat in my tent again, to avoid the men, as well as the smell of manure. I would find Jon later.

I approached the nearest fire, which was being shared by seven clansmen, all unknown to me and of common birth. They all went quiet the moment I greeted them and clambered to get up and bow to me. A moment later they started to fidget awkwardly and look at each other for guidance, so I decided to put them out of their misery.

"Please sit. Get warm. I only wanted to ask whether you could bring me a serving in my tent when your goat is ready."

I told them and I saw them all nod and agree profusely as they sat back on the ground. I thanked them and turned on my heel to walk back to my tent, listening to their voices fade with every step I took. I crawled inside with Ghost in tow and started unbinding my braids carefully. Then, I detangled my hair, using my fingers in the absence of a brush, feeling the direwolf watch me from where he was sprawled on the floor.

 _What I'd give for a bath right now…_

I thought, even though I knew I was asking for the impossible in the wilderness. The intense cold had prevented me from sweating as I rode and there was not a speck of dirt to be found on me, or my clothes, thanks to the packed snow and ice, but I felt soiled all the same. I always felt soiled…

Ghost got up and started to stare intensely at the flap of the tent. The next moment, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Milady, I've brought you some o' the goat, just like you asked."

A man informed me from outside. I crawled over to the flap and lifted it, only to be met by the bearded face of a stranger. I flinched at his unexpected proximity and, at the same time, he took a step back with an apologetic look, pushing the plate towards me.

"Thank you Ser, you are most kind. Enjoy your meal and have a good night."

I told him with a small smile and I saw his face beam at my words. I took the food inside and sat on the furs next to Ghost. I ate the crispy meat with my fingers, feeding Ghost more than half my plate. I knew it wouldn't be enough to abate his hunger, as he had not hunted in three days and three nights, but hopefully it would help with the intense pain he felt because of it.

He was a stubborn beast. Even though I sent him off half a dozen times, ordering him to go hunt, he never did, settling with the morsels of meat I fed him off my fingers and the bones the men threw away. When I finished my food I crawled once again outside and used some fresh snow to wash my hands, even though the direwolf had already licked them clean. I was about to go search for Jon when I thought I spotted him in the corner of my eye.

I turned around and walked towards him with purpose, determined to talk to him about my plan at last. The moment I got a little closer though, I realized it hadn't been Jon, but Artos Flint who had a similar build to Jon and whose hair looked black in the darkness. I fumed in exasperation.

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

I thought and I turned to the white direwolf, leaning down to come to his level.

"Ghost, can you take me to Jon?"

I asked him, staring deep into his red, unsettling eyes. He seemed to understand my request, as he started to walk through the camp with his tail swinging back and forth in happiness.

I believed Ghost would take me to his tent, or maybe to a campfire, but he did neither. He walked me through a small trail on the mountain, which was leading away from the camp. I gathered my skirts in my left hand and kept my right on the icy stone next to me for support. The moon was high in the starry sky, lighting my way, but still, the ground was uneven and the rocks I was stepping on were slick with ice. At least there was no snow falling from the sky to impede my vision and no strong winds to make me sway and lose my footing. I followed in Ghost's footsteps cautiously and slowly and, in the end my determination paid off. I had managed to climb the whole thing without twisting an ankle, or falling to my death.

The trail had led me to a small clearing at the edge of the mountain and at the very edge sat Jon, gazing into the darkness. I stood there, watching him transfixed. He was brooding, as always. In the moonlight his skin looked white as marble and, in his stillness, he resembled more a statue in the crypts of Winterfell, than a man.

My staring was interrupted when he turned towards me, fixing his eyes on me. He was surprised to see me there. Suddenly my stomach was in knots at the prospect of talking to him.

"My Lady, what are you doing here?"

He asked, the formality of his words piercing me like needles.

"I asked Ghost to bring me to you… I… we need to talk Jon."

I replied with as much determination as I could muster, using his name; ignoring the voice in my mind that compelled me to hurt him by calling him my half-brother, or something worse.

"He shouldn't have done that. It was dangerous and foolish."

He said harshly, as I walked towards him. He made no move to get up or get away from me, so I sat beside him carefully, minding my new dress.

"It was necessary and it wouldn't have been, if you had not avoided me for the past three days."

I said sternly while lifting my chin, taking the same expression I always took whenever I reprimanded Arya about something improper that she did. I tried to reign in my anger and tone down the arrogance. They would not serve me well in this case. Jon gave me no reply. He wasn't even looking at me. He was looking at the horizon instead, sullen as ever.

 _Maybe he thinks that if he ignores me, I will leave on my own._

O though wryly, as I flipped my hair behind my shoulders. I steeled myself and took a deep breath, ready to say the words I had been preparing for days now.

"I know how you feel Jon and I understand that you can't tolerate my presence. You can hate me all you like, but you should at least−"

"What?"

He asked me, interrupting me before I had a chance to put two sentences together. He was looking at me with the most dumbfounded expression I had ever seen on his face.

"I… I said I know how you feel about me. I don't blame you for it. I hate myself as well for all that, so I understand."

I told him slowly and clearly, in case he did not hear me in the first place. It was all true, but still the words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I don't hate you Sansa. Why in the world would I ever hate you?"

This was my turn, as it seemed, to get surprised by his comment. His disdain towards me had been so clear, I was certain my assessment was true.

"It's ok, really. You don't have to deny it. I have made my peace with it."

I told him reassuringly, sounding more composed than I actually felt, successfully keeping up the façade. I ached to take his hands inside mine, but I stopped myself; he wouldn't let me anyway… he turned his gaze away from mine and started to clench and unclench his right fist in nervousness.

"Others take me."

He muttered under his breath and suddenly turned his head towards me once more. The look in his black eyes was intense and it caused something to clench low in my belly, creating the same feeling I had experienced three days ago in his room, right before Morgan Liddle burst in.

"Sansa…"

He breathed out. His voice was strained and I couldn't help but think that saying my name caused him pain somehow.

"I don't hate you. I would never hate you. Forgive me for giving you that impression."

He apologized as he gently took my hands inside his.

 _Did he read my mind?_

I wondered and I tried to stop biting my lip, which once more had found its way between my teeth. I was looking at our joined hands, avoiding his face, feeling embarrassed about something I couldn't pinpoint. To make matters worse, I truly couldn't make sense of his words. I was at a loss and that made me more nervous still. I no longer had my wits about me…

"Aye, all those things you told me were ugly and disturbing and infuriating, but none of them was your fault Sansa. You were only a child."

He said gently and I felt shame fill me and guilt as well and I realized, somewhere along the conversation, my mask had slipped off my face; fallen into the abyss below.

"Don't say that. I killed father Jon and Arya and Lady."

"You killed nobody! The bloody Lannisters killed them and they would have done it no matter what you said or did!"

Jon said vehemently, squeezing my hands inside his own. I chanced a look up into his eyes again, to see whether he meant it.

 _Can he truly believe that?_

I wondered in awe, as I saw the unmistakable conviction there.

"I… I don't understand… if you really believe that, then why?"

I inquired, desperate to know; desperate to understand. He let out a long sigh and I watched as it misted before his face, before it got carried away in the winter wind.

"It's complicated Sansa."

He said with finality, as if his words explained anything.

"Things rarely are complicated. We just make them so in our minds."

I told him and I felt his right hand spasm above my own as he tried to stop it from tightening.

"I believe coming back from the dead counts as complicated."

He said flippantly with a lopsided smile, making it seem as if he was sharing an inside joke with me.

"What does it have to do with giving me the cold shoulder?"

I asked him accusingly and watched his smile fall.

"It has everything to do with it, because I came back wrong Sansa."

He said forcefully, raising his voice a little.

"There are unnatural and wrong things in my mind that were not there before. They became overwhelming that night and I just couldn't…"

He said a little quieter this time, leaving his thought unfinished. Even though his explanation was vague and incomplete, I didn't need him to say anything more to understand him. After all, I knew better than most what it's like to have dark, unnatural thoughts that nobody could know about. Thoughts of suicide; thoughts of murder.

"You are not 'wrong' or 'unnatural' in any way Jon. You just changed through a traumatic experience. Don't beat yourself over it."

I told him reassuringly, as I watched his features twist into a wry grin and his eyes harden, becoming twin chips of dragonglass.

"Ha!"

He scoffed.

"I hanged a boy Sansa, younger than Bran and you want to tell me there is nothing wrong with me? I told Edd to make the drop as small as possible, so they would all die slowly and painfully, just because I thought it would feel good to watch them suffer and you want to tell me that was not unnatural?"

He spat at me, almost mockingly, but I did not even flinch at his words. After all, my ability to get shocked by violence and death had substantially diminished during my marriage to Ramsay Bolton.

 _When your husband whispers to you as he rapes you that he fantasizes about hunting you through the woods with his dogs and skinning you alive, it is really hard to get shocked by anything less._

I thought and I felt my skin crawl at the memory. Jon beside me had gone silent and he was looking at the moon in the sky as if it was responsible for all the wrongs he had suffered.

"Did it feel good?"

I asked him, sounding as unimpressed as I felt, because I knew the answer he would give me beforehand.

"No… I felt nothing as I watched them die and that wasn't really any better."

He told me gravely, giving me the exact answer I expected to hear. He wouldn't expect mine though…

"When Joffrey died at his wedding, I wept and sobbed and someone told me, as I fled, that I had a big heart because of it. For months I had thought I would want to dance from joy when he died, but all I had felt was shock in the end. I am not shocked as easily anymore. When Ramsay will die before my eyes, I'm going to feel nothing but satisfaction."

I told him unapologetically and he gave me no reply, only silence. I realized that, as we talked, I had crept closer to him for warmth and I was practically leaning on him by now. I was shivering as the wind crept inside my clothes, but Jon was extruding warmth as if he was burning from the inside and I wanted to somehow surround myself in him and bask in his heat.

"The night is too cold for you to be outside. You are shivering. We should head back."

He said, and shifted his weight to get up; I squeezed his hand to stop him.

"Soon, but not yet. I have yet to tell you what I came here to tell you in the first place."

"Can't you tell me by a fire in the camp?"

"No, it has to be here, where there are no prying eyes and ears. What I'm about to ask you is very important Jon, for both our safety and for the safety of the North and it has to stay between us."

I told him, no doubt piquing his interest. He was listening intently, so I took a deep breath to continue.

"Should we win, I want you to take the position of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

I told him resolutely, watching the emotions dance in his eyes, changing in quick succession.

"Those titles belong to Bran and to Rickon after him."

He finally said with equal conviction, as if there was even a small chance Rickon would survive Ramsay.

"Rickon will be dead by the time the battle ends, no matter the outcome. For all we know Ramsay has already flayed him. And Bran is lost and probably dead as well."

I was being cruel and I knew it, but Ramsay was crueler still and there wasn't even a slight possibility of him sparing Rickon, even though he was just a child.

"After the battle is won we will bury Rickon in the crypts, as befit the Lord of Winterfell and you will have to step in and take his place."

I said finitely and I saw him close his eyes, as if in prayer. He breathed in deeply, his breath forming little white clouds before his face every time he let it out. His Adam's apple bobbled a few times. He appeared tormented and I felt a pang in my chest for being the one to cause him such pain.

"Even if they are both… dead, Winterfell will be yours, as the trueborn daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark."

He croaked in a coarse voice.

 _Yes it is… for all the death and destruction such an outcome would bring us._

I thought to myself as I tried to gather the words I had prepared the past three days for this occasion. All the arguments were there, but the pretty words I had shrouded them in were gone…

"The North will never accept a woman as their ruler, especially during times of war and unrest. They will marry me off to some power-hungry lord before Ramsay's body is even cold and he will rule the North in my stead. I will be set aside and, in the best case scenario, he will keep me around to pop out his children, like some brooding mare in the stables."

I said, not mincing my words in the least, thinking how Littlefinger would worm his way into my life, forcing me somehow to marry him, just to turn his twisted fantasy into reality.

"And, as soon as I'm wed, you will probably find an untimely death for a second time. Be it in the battlefield by a sword, or in the privy by poison, you will still die, in order for my husband to further secure his claim. Of course, your death will also give him free reign to do as he pleases with me. For all I know, he will continue what Joffrey and Ramsay left unfinished, making a second Lady Hornwood out of me."

I continued mercilessly, painting a vivid picture for him that came straight out of my nightmares. I felt him balk at my words, as if I had hit him.

"You don't know any of that Sansa."

"Oh but I do. You are the one who knows nothing Jon Snow, but I can teach you."

I promised him and I saw him wince at my words.

 _It seems everything I say hurts him._

I thought, loathing myself for it.

 _I used to be a beautiful porcelain doll, bred and trained to please with sweet songs. And now, look at me. Broken into a million pieces; beautiful no longer, with songs that had turned tart and bitter in my mouth… The only sweet songs I can sing are ones of deception…_

"The men of the clans already respect and follow you and the Wildlings have practically declared you King Beyond the Wall. They want _you_ as their leader Jon, not me. And should you defeat Ramsay and become the head of House Stark, the whole North will worship you, respect you and even fear you."

He scoffed, but I continued as if I hadn't heard him.

"Of course that doesn't mean they will not try to undermine you or kill you, but they will think twice before doing such a thing to a man with your reputation Jon; especially after they see how you came back from the dead. And I will be there to help you every step of the way with their politics and their scheming, I swear it. The only thing I will ask of you in return is to turn down any and all proposals for my hand; I do not wish to marry again."

I told him, my voice turning from passionate to barely audible at the end of my speech. Jon appeared unaffected though. His eyes were unwavering and hard and I knew his reply before he opened his mouth to give it to me.

"I already refused that offer to a king Sansa, no matter how tempting it had been at the time. I refused to steal your birthright then and I will do so again."

Jon said and I wanted to hit him for listening to his stupid honor, ignoring logic and reason. He was too much like father and, in this case, it was not a good thing.

"You can't steal what is being freely offered to you Jon! I don't want to rule. I just want to feel safe for once and the only person I trust with my life and our home is you my brother."

I confessed, feeling as if I just cut my heart out and offered it to him. It had been too long since I had used my true feelings as a way to persuade someone and it felt almost wrong…

"Even if I agree, do you really think the Northern lords will accept a bastard as their liege lord?"

He asked me and I could see that my previous heartfelt comment accomplished more than all my other arguments combined. His eyes were wide and unsure. I had cracked his resolve.

 _Jon always yearned to become somebody. He always wanted to make a name of himself._

'I am the Lord of Winterfell.' I remember him shouting at Robb in the yard, too many times to count when they played as children.

 _He wants it more than he can even admit to himself, yet he denies himself his undisclosed desire for honor._

"I don't _think_ they will… I _know_ they will."

I told him with certainty.

"Sansa I… I can't do it. It's not−"

I put two of my gloved fingers on his lips to silence him in a flash of boldness, remembering vaguely his reaction the first time I did it in the tub. Even though it was the second time, he appeared as stunned as the first.

"You don't have to give me a reply tonight. You can consider it and give me your reply tomorrow. But please, don't let your honor be our undoing Jon."

I pleaded him as I let my fingers drop from his lips, feeling embarrassed for touching him like that.

"Aye, I'll think about it."

He breathed out hoarsely, as I entwined my fingers with his, needing to feel connected to him somehow. He didn't even seem to notice I had done it. He was staring at the sky again and I was staring at him. He no longer looked like a statue, but like a man; a handsome, melancholic man, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 _And now I have given him my own responsibilities to carry as well; as if his own were not enough._

I thought despondently, thinking myself to be the most selfish person in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Jon will you tell me a story?"

I asked him, wanting to get both our minds off the upcoming battle and the political games of the North. Jon turned to look at me with surprise etched on his face at my request.

"I… I don't know if I can remember any stories Sansa."

He confessed, sounding regretful. His eyes were sad again and his mouth downturned, when I only wanted to see a smile grace his lips…

"Why not? It doesn't have to be a love story. It can be one of the scary ones Bran used to like, or one from the Dance of Dragons, you wanted to hear all the time. I really don't mind."

I assured him with a smile, but he shook his head in denial, making the curls at the nape of his neck bounce.

"When I said 'any stories', I meant it literally. Ever since I came back, my childhood is by a large part gone from my memories."

He said miserably, his words so quiet, they almost got lost in the wind, before I had a chance to hear them. My heart went out to him. I couldn't imagine having to live in this wretched world without the beautiful memories I had from my childhood. For so long they had been my only solace in my thoughts and dreams…

 _How could you be so cruel? Why did you have to take those memories from him? They were the only sweet and beautiful thing in our miserable lives. He deserves to have this much at least! Why? Why? Why?_

I repeated, my mind demanding answer from gods that were not there to listen, as hot tears pooled in my eyes and spilled on my dress.

"Oh Jon!"

I sobbed and wrapped my arms around him. I pressed my face on his shoulder and fisted his cloak tightly, holding on for dear life. He tensed the moment I embraced him, but after a moment he enveloped me in his arms as well, letting me weep on him without complaint.

I cried for Jon's lost memories and I cried for my tainted ones. In my mind, the rooms of the Great Keep, which had once been full of laughter, had been filled with blood and screams of pain instead. The walls of the Great Hall, that had witnessed me share a thousand dances with Robb and father, had also witnessed my dances with the monsters that killed them both and the monster that wanted to kill me. The yard, which used to be full of playing children and happy servants, had now been strewn with flayed corpses. The godswood, where father used to pray, now held the memories of my hellish wedding. Even the crypts, where we used to play as children, had been tainted by Littlefinger's unwanted kiss…

 _But at least, I have the good memories, along with the bad ones. Jon doesn't even have that._

The thought made me cry even harder than before and Jon still held me, rocking me gently back and forth, whispering in my ear that there was no reason to cry; that everything was all right, despite the fact that the whole world was wrong. He was comforting me, even though I was the one who was supposed to be comforting him and I suddenly realized it was impossible for him to cry for something he had no memory of.

 _I have enough memories for the both of us… I will sing them all to him and he will remember, because it all happened. I hadn't dreamt them. I know I hadn't, else Jon wouldn't be warm and tangible in my arms right now._

I tightened my hold on him, as if to make sure he was truly there. His hard muscles did not give under my fingers and his heart was beating rhythmically in his chest, under my palm. He was real and alive. I could feel his breath on my hair and I could smell his unique scent that was a mixture of smoke, leather, sweat and wolf; the smell of home.

And I could still hear him whisper comforting words in my ear. I concentrated on his deep voice, focusing on the way the words sounded as they came out of his mouth and after a while my tears dried and my sobs stopped. I felt drained and tired. I closed my puffy eyes and I snuggled closer up to Jon, breathing him in. Once. Twice… drifting off to sleep in his arms, where all the dreams were of home.

 **Gosh, that was a tough one to finish. Sansa is obviously coming into her own, making her own plans and taking her own decisions, based on what she thinks is best. Jon had to stay away, because he is... well, Jon and he had to, at least, try after what happened in the last chapter. I guess I ended the chapter on a sad note... I hope you liked it! Let me know in the comments!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm terribly sorry for taking so long, but I had absolutely no time at all to write during the holiday season, due to work (I had a 12 hour shift daily, and of course, friends, family and a fiancé to spend time with as well). Unfortunately, I'll be able to post regularly again after February, when my finals will be over. That doesn't mean I won't post again sooner, but I just wanted to warn you beforehand.**

 **JON**

I found myself wandering around Winterfell, down stairways and along corridors, opening doors to empty and cold chambers. There was nobody there.

The yard was also completely desolate.

A terrible thought came unbidden into my mind.

 _What if they are all dead?_

I ran towards the crypts, desperate to find out. I had just run by the First Keep when I saw a figure standing vigil before the heavy ironwood door of the crypts. Instead of relief, fear twisted in my gut, but I couldn't stop. I had to go there. I had to get inside.

Suddenly, I found myself in front of Lady Catelyn. She was sneering at me with obvious contempt, as she stood tall, between me and the door of the crypts.

"You have no right to be here. Leave."

She hissed at me, voicing finally the unspoken words I could always see plainly reflected in her eyes.

"I have to go inside."

I told her, not really afraid of her. There was something worse inside the crypts, waiting for me to find.

"You have no place in the crypts. No place in Winterfell. You are not a Stark, only a bastard."

Lady Stark replied with conviction, looking at me with cold, unyielding eyes. I shoved her aside to make way, but when I touched her she disappeared like smoke through my fingers.

Inside the crypts it was dark and cold and my cries for father and Robb echoed in the endless, damp corridors. I somehow found myself in the deepest part of them, walking hurriedly past the Kings of Winter, whose ghosts all repeated Lady Catelyn's words at me, over and over again. I was terrified, but not of them. There was something terrible in here, something more frightening than the dead and I had to find it. I had to…

In my hurry, I slipped on something, losing my balance and just like that, I was falling into an abyss…

I woke up abruptly, regaining my balance. I had slipped sideways on the saddle, where I had obviously fallen asleep. I would have fallen, had I not woken when I did.

 _When had I even slept?_

I wondered, feeling shaken by the dream. It was almost the same dream as before. The only change was Lady Catelyn's appearance, but that could probably be explained as a result of the turmoil Sansa's proposition had caused in me last night…

"Did you enjoy your beauty sleep princess?"

Morgan Liddle asked me teasingly, as I rubbed the sleep off my eyes.

"Fuck you."

I grumbled at him, not really in the mood for his japes.

"With pleasure Snow! I bet you'll keep me nice and warm under my furs tonight…"

He retorted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. I gave him a withering glare to shut him up and he rolled his eyes at me, as he spurred his horse forwards, muttering under his breath something about me being a prissy cunt.

I sighed in relief at his departure, needing some time to think by myself. I needed to know whether I had chosen to do the right thing and I couldn't do that with that him and his big mouth nearby…

In the end, I had decided to go along with Sansa's plan. I had all night to think about it uninterrupted, as she slept. There had been a war inside my mind. One that stopped only the moment I realized how selfish I was being.

I had decided weeks ago that Sansa's wellbeing was far more important than my stupid sense of honor, but it seemed like old habits die hard. But die they would, if that meant she would get to live.

So, the moment she woke, I told her I would do it, stammering the whole time like a green boy. She hadn't seemed to notice though. She coiled her arms around me and thanked me a thousand times, promising me I wouldn't regret it.

I could still remember how her soft body felt pressed on mine. I had a whole night to ingrain it to my memory. I had never expected her to sleep in my arms. I had only been comforting her, but then she fell asleep and, even though I knew it was wrong to keep her so close, I still couldn't bring myself to wake her. _'Just a little longer.'_ , I would repeat to myself, because I was a selfish bastard, and I couldn't get enough, but minutes stretched into hours… until dawn came and she finally stirred on her own. She even apologized for sleeping, as if it had been a chore, an inconvenience for me…

"We'll part ways soon. We'll reach the juncture by midday."

The Wull informed me, as he came to ride beside me on his black destrier. I was lost in thought and I had not heard his approach. That by itself was a marvel, because his horse was anything but silent. It was a muscular and mean beast, prone to biting and kicking and making a ruckus. The only thing that could scare it, so far, was Ghost and the only person it let on its back was Big-Bucket Wull.

I looked him in the eye and gave him a nod, hoping that would be enough of an answer for him. The chief was a fearsome sight today. He was wearing his white bear hide, which made him look even more brawny and formidable and at his back hung his mighty war hammer. To be honest, he looked more like a bear than a man… a white bear riding a black horse.

"Are you all right son?"

He asked me, sounding genuinely concerned.

 _If I look half as shitty as I feel, then I understand why he asks._

I thought to myself, as the last word he said echoed in my mind. The first time he had called me 'son' it had been a big shock. I had no recollection of being called that by anyone in my whole life; not even my own father, but surely I had just forgotten… There was no way father had never called me 'son'…

I dragged my hand along my skull, pulling back my unruly hair and tying it half of it at the back of my head. The touch of the icy wind at my exposed neck and ears made me shiver, but I ignored it.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep last night. I had too much in my mind."

I saw his face darken at my comment and he frowned at me.

"Don't tell me you have been contemplating on actually going along with your foolish plan!"

He hissed at me in exasperation. In the past three days we had talked about Ramsay Bolton's letter extensively. I had told him of my plan to go to Winterfell and rescue Rickon, just as I had rescued Sansa, but he wouldn't hear any of it. He said that it was a trap, that the Bastard was lying, that my brother was dead…

And I had grudgingly agreed, because he was voicing my own dark suspicions.

I couldn't let little Rickon die though, in the off chance Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth…

 _"_ _Rickon will be dead by the time the battle ends, no matter the outcome."_

Sansa said in my mind for the hundredth time since last night. I felt my right hand spasm on the reigns and I tightened it into a fist.

"I don't know."

I said, not really in the mood to explain anything to anyone… not even myself. I saw him run his hand through his beard, pulling away the tiny icicles that had formed there from his breath and I did the same with mine, watching the ice crumble and fall on the ground.

"Jon, you cannot jeopardize the fate of the North for the sake of a child that could or could not be Eddard Stark's son. We are at war and winter is almost upon us."

He replied with cold pragmatism, reminding me of Maester Aemon's words.

 _"_ _Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."_

I thought the boy was dead and buried by the Wall, under a sign with the word 'TRAITOR' written on it, but it wasn't, not entirely. There was a small part of the boy still alive, demanding to be heard.

 _Damn her._

I thought, knowing she was the one to do this to me. She was the one to awaken this part of me. It had been dead, and yet, she had somehow breathed life into it, the same way the Red Woman had breathed life into my dead body.

"So am I supposed to stand down and let another one of my brothers die? Is that what you'd have off me? _My Lord_ …"

I asked him through clenched teeth, adding his title in the end with withering scorn. He huffed in anger at my outburst and his clear blue eyes hardened like chips of ice that fell off the Wall.

"Yes you are, damn you! Your place is at the head of your army, not in the Bastard's dungeons like some common thief. All those men marching behind you have put their faith in you to help them survive this winter, the way the Starks have done for thousands of years. If you are not the man to do that, then there is no point in following you in the first place."

He told me, using the same arguments as yesterday and the day before yesterday, with slightly different wording.

"That boy is not your brother Jon. He is just a decoy, a sham! And even if he is your brother, there is no need for _you_ to go rescue him! You have four thousand men under your command! Surely there are plenty willing and able to take on this quest! But there is no other man to command your army in your stead."

He said in exasperation and his horse whinnied in agreement with him.

 _He is right… I can send somebody else… How did I not think about it before?_

I wondered, feeling at a loss. I had ruminated on the subject for days on end and not even once did that possibility cross my mind.

"I have a man in mind for the job if you are interested…"

He said when I gave him no reply, probably sensing I was half-sold on this idea of his.

"Who?"

"The Red Mouse. His real name is Karl and serves the Flints. He is half clansman, half crannogman. He is small as a mouse, this one, and quiet too. Perfect for the job."

He informed me with a smile, but his words were met with skepticism on my part.

"Tell me more of him. Why do they call him that?"

I requested and his face crunched up in an annoyance, or distaste, I couldn't really tell.

"Well, I already told you how the "mouse" part came to be, but people added the 'red' part for he is a little too fond of the killing business."

He informed me and the scowl on my face deepened, making the scab at my temple grow taut.

"I won't put the life of my brother at the hands of a killer."

"We are all killers Jon Snow. He is just better at it, is all."

He replied with a shrug and I had no comeback for him, because he was right. I was right as well though.

 _There is surely somebody better suited for the job… somebody I can trust… one of my own men._

I thought and suddenly I had my answer. There were not many men I could trust. I could count them in one hand and there was only one amongst them who met all the conditions. Lord Davos Seaworth. He had been a smuggler before Robert's Rebellion and he had sneaked inside Storm's End undetected, not once, but twice and lived to tell the tale.

 _This man has already risked his life for mine… he would never refuse me… not even if I sent him on a suicide mission like this one. He is the only one I know capable of pulling this off and, even if he fails, I will know for certain that nobody would have succeeded._

"It doesn't matter. I won't have him. I have somebody better in mind for the job my Lord, but thank you for your counsel."

I told him somberly.

"Good! Now that we _finally_ solved that, it's high time you get your face out of your ass and start enjoying the ride!"

He replied as he slapped my horse's flank causing it to break into a fast gallop. He spurred his own horse forwards as well and I ran with him, letting myself enjoy the ride as he had urged me. After a while, we both slowed down, as the path became smaller again and steeper. While I was catching my breath, I looked around, taking in the scenery I had ignored for most of the day. To my left there was a solid mountain wall, made up of grey stone and chunks of iridescent ice, stretching towards the heavens. To my left, there were endless pine and fir trees, filling the whole slope, their branches white with snow. Those mountains were beautiful in their own way; in the wild way of the North. A screech sounded from up above and I saw a falcon soaring in the clear blue sky directly above us. I looked at it suspiciously, having the same feeling I had when Orell's eagle had flown down at me, ready to tear my eyes out with its sharp talons.

The falcon took a dive directly towards us and I unsheathed my sword in a heartbeat, ready to strike it down.

"NO!"

Big-Bucket shouted at me, holding my hand down with all his strength. Panic surged in my chest. The next moment, the falcon was harmlessly perched on his shoulder, reminding me of the way the Lord Commander's raven used to stay in that position. The urge to attack it was still very much present though. I knew there was a man inside the falcon. I didn't know how, but I knew all the same…

"This is Rickard."

The Wull said affectionately, as he petted its feathers with his fingers.

"He is the messenger I will be sending you when we reach the Wolfswood."

He continued, and I looked at him with a blank expression.

"I thought you'd recognize your own kind Jon Snow."

He said dryly and I sucked in a breath in sock.

 _How does he know? I have only told Sansa and she would never share such a secret… would she?_

"I don't understa−"

"There's no use in denying it. It's just us here and I know a skinchanger when I see one lad. There is no shame in it. What you have is a gift from the old gods, a blessing…"

He told me in a coarse voice, his tone sad and rueful, not understanding that my link with Ghost was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

I hissed at him and he shot me with a hard glare. His horse huffed under him and kicked the icy path with its hooves, sensing his rider's anger.

"What I know, Jon Snow, is that, even thought my firstborn son died at Twins, he came back to me after the Red Wedding inside that falcon. To me, that is nothing but a blessing from the gods."

A gasp escaped my lips at his harshly spoken words. I knew his son had died at the Red Wedding, along with my brother, but I never could have guessed…

"I… I'm terribly sorry my Lord. I didn't know."

I apologized clumsily, cursing my lack of eloquence.

 _If Sansa were here, she would have known what to say. She is the one with the pretty words and the proper courtesies…_

I thought to myself as I stole a glance at Big-Bucket Wull beside me. He was whispering something to the falcon, which promptly flew away with a screech, disappearing behind a mountaintop.

"You remind me of him you know… maybe not in appearance, but in character. My Rickard was as brave, noble and kind, as you are…"

He started and I turned my attention back to him and away from the winter sky.

"When I found out he was a skinchanger, I got so mad, I took a bow and arrow and shot that bloody bird out of the sky. The wind led my arrow astray though, piercing its wing instead of its belly. I can still remember how it had shrieked in agony in time with my son, as it fell."

"I found it in the yard, laying half-dead on the snow. I had my dirk ready, but my son was already there, holding a kitchen knife in his hand as if it were a sword, ready to defend his bird. He was a boy of seven and, still, he stood up to me without a second thought. I have no idea what came over me at that moment, but I decided to spare it. And now it brought a part of my son back to me…"

He said, dragging his gloved hand along his face. He appeared older somehow, resigned and pained. And I understood him. I knew how his chest burned and ached, I knew how much he missed him. I was no stranger to grief. And my pain was surely sharper, because no part of Robb came back to me, no part of Arya or father…

 _Only Sansa came back to me, but even she came back broken, with her other half dead and gone…_

I said nothing. Empty words of comfort would offer him no solace. They didn't bring any to me at least.

The scenery had changed yet again and we were now walking in the middle of a chasm that had formed in the mountain. Twin stone walls flanked us from both directions. The rest of the men had caught up to us a while ago. The sound of hooves hitting on stone and of the sound human voices was resonating in the narrow space, creating the illusion of an army counting tens of thousands.

"We'll part ways after this bend Jon Snow."

He suddenly said the moment said bend became visible. He sounded like the man I had met all those days ago, composed and serious and nothing like the grieving father I had beside me only moments ago. I gave him a solemn nod, murmuring 'Aye' under my breath.

"When we reach our designated position at the Wolfswood, I will send Rickard to find you and, a day before the attack, you'll send him back to me, so we can prepare."

"I'll be waiting for him my Lord."

I told him somberly as we took a sharp turn on the mountain. Suddenly the path we were riding on split into two and Big-Bucket raised his arm high above his head, gesturing for everyone to come to a halt. The time to split our forces had come and fear twisted in my belly like vicious snakes. From the three thousand clansmen, only five hundred would follow Sansa and me to Last Heath, and then south to Winterfell, through the King's Road. The rest would take the path that led to Winterfell through the mountains, to attack the enemy from the rear. I would have to provide the Bastard with a show, drawing his attention to the north with sorties, so the clansmen would remain undetected in the Wolfswood, right at his doorstep.

It was a bold plan and a risky one and that made me wary. There was too much at stake and there was no room for mistakes. One mistake was all that was needed for death to come for us all.

I said my goodbyes to the chiefs and then to their sons, crushing their hands in mine and relishing in the way they flinched. I knew I was being petty, but watching them talk with Sansa for all those days when I could not even let myself look her way, had me turning green with jealousy.

That feeling should have been nothing new to a bastard. After all, I had been jealous of all my siblings for my whole life, especially Robb. I had even envied Theon in a way, but this kind of jealousy was new to me. It was toxic like poison and it caused fierce anger to erupt in my chest, anger I had nowhere to channel, except to Ghost. He welcomed all my darkest feelings and made them his own. Watching the lordlings cower before the huge white direwolf was my only source of pleasure on this cold and seemingly unending march.

I watched as the biggest part of our army took the path to the right, towards Winterfell, leaving only a small force of Flints and Liddles behind, with Morgan Liddle and Black Donnel Flint as their commanders. It was a good thing for my sanity, because Donnel Flint was married and Morgan Liddle was intent on remaining a bachelor for as long as possible. Obviously none of them had any intention of courting her and I was glad for the reprieve, no matter how brief it would be.

I turned around and saw Sansa riding alone again, with her back held straight as an arrow and her cloak blowing in the breeze. Ghost was at her side, like always these days. I saw her start coming towards me with a hesitant smile and I smiled in return, unable to resist. The next moment though, I got flanked by Morgan and Black Donnel and I saw her draw back the reins softly, stilling her advance. Morgan started unfurling a tale at Donnel and I, about his last hunting trip and, with a sigh, I tore my eyes from her and concentrated on Middle Liddle's story.

ͽͼ

Sansa had just finished eating the weak broth that had been our supper and put her bowl down with a content sigh. I had finished mine a while ago and I was struggling not to stare at her for too long now that I had nothing to occupy myself with. She had unbound her hair from her braids and her curls were flowing down her back in a river of bright flame. Her cheeks were flush from the ale we had both drank and the black circles under her eyes had almost disappeared since last night. She was radiant…

"Do you remember that one time when you and Robb snuck out in the woods to play and I followed you?"

She asked me with an expectant smile on her face. There was a tightening in my chest at the mention of Robb. She had taken me unawares with her question.

"When was that?"

I asked her sheepishly as I raked my mind to remember the incident she was talking about. It must have been a long time ago, if Sansa had still been following us around…

"I think I was around five and you and Robb were eight at the time. You had both promised we would play monsters-and-maidens together, but Robb didn't want to play with me. I believe he coaxed you into sneaking out and going to the Wolfswood to play heroes… _again_. I was so mad when I saw you leave, I ran behind you, to drag you back so we could play together, as you had promised."

She interrupted her recounting to giggle and snicker at what came next. The memory eluded me, but her happiness was infectious and I caught myself smiling as well. I couldn't decide whether my smile was a happy or sad one.

"I was being so silly! I stomped into the forest, as if I owned the place and started looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I remember shouting out your names, and, of course, panicking when you gave no reply. I was completely lost and very scared, when, suddenly, a squirrel landed on my head. I shrieked so loud, I'm sure even the rangers on the Wall heard me. And then, in my panic, I fell in the creek, which of course resulted in some more shrieks."

She said, scrunching her nose in the most adorable way. I gasped, as I suddenly remembered what came next.

"Yes! Gods, how could I have forgotten that? We heard you scream and ran to you, thinking you were being mauled by a bear or attacked by Wildlings. But you… we…"

My voice trailed off as the memory faded. I felt my face grow hot in embarrassment and frustration, but Sansa picked up effortlessly from where I had left off, as if nothing had happened.

"You came running through the trees, with your wooden swords in hand, ready to defend me, but I was the only one there, struggling to get out of the creek, wet like a fish. It took the both of you to pull me out of the water, thanks to that heavy woolen dress I was wearing."

"But of course, like the brat I was, the moment I was out, I started screeching in the most unladylike manner that it was your fault my new dress got ruined and that I would never-ever forgive you for leaving me behind! Gods, the looks on your faces were hilarious."

She said amidst bouts of laughter. The shocked face of eight-year-old Robb flashed in my mind, along with the image of Sansa, sodden and red of face, shouting at us, while she was fumbling to pry the squirrel off her hair.

"If you thought our expressions were hilarious, you should have seen your face! It was almost as red as your hair! And gods, your hair… I've never seen them so out of place! They were drenched and tangled and the bloody squirrel wouldn't get off them!"

I exclaimed, joining her in her laughter. Sansa laughed harder still, clutching her ribs with one hand and wiping the corners of her eyes with the other. When our laughter died down, I found myself transfixed by her eyes. They were vibrant with joy and so… alive. If I could, I would have frozen time forever in this moment.

The moment passed though and she continued with more stories from our childhood. Some of them, the most recent ones, I remembered vividly, some others vaguely and others not at all, but she had them all recorded in her memory, perfectly preserved, as if she was waiting for somebody to share them with. And share she did…

After a few stories, I believe she realized the ones missing from my memories were the oldest ones, those before Arya and Bran came along, so she concentrated on them, leaving the rest for another time. Theon Greyjoy was suspiciously missing from all her stories though and I couldn't decide whether he hadn't been there in the first place or whether she cut him out of her naration intentionally… whatever it was I was glad she had the foresight not to include him.

In hindsight I felt bad for thinking she had invited me to sup with her to talk politics again. I felt even worse for thinking she would demand something else of me, when in truth she wanted to give me something instead, an invaluable gift I would never be able to replay.

 _I did the right thing, agreeing to follow her plan, didn't I? I will not have to go through with it anyway… Rickon will live._

I thought to myself, feeling unsure, all of a sudden. I understood that Sansa had devised this plan in order to feel a semblance of safety and control. Both of those things were important to her, maybe more important than anything else and, by agreeing with her plan, I had given them to her, sacrificing my honor in the process.

 _What would you have done father?_

I wondered, but I already knew the answer. Sansa told me that father, in the end, chose to protect his daughters, forsaking his honor his family.

 _What is right is not necessarily what is honorable as well._

I already knew that. I had been forced to choose between those two, one time too many in my life, to be able to make the distinction.

 _My honor doesn't matter. All the sacrifices I made for honor left me with nothing. The Others can take my bloody honor for all I care._

Silence had fallen in the tent whilst I was deep in thought. Sansa was staring at me through her lashes, perched on a couple of pillows across of me, while she played with her hair absentmindedly.

The moment my eyes locked on hers, I saw her blush and avert her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring. After all, it had been ingrained into her that it was most unbecoming for a lady of her station to stare openly at anyone.

"I'm really sorry for the prolonged silence… I was−"

"Brooding… I noticed."

She quipped with a teasing smile on her lips. I chuckled at her remark, even though that was not what I was about to say.

"Aye I was. I make for awful company with all my brooding I'm afraid."

I confessed with an apologetic smile and she laughed, as if I just shared a jape.

"Don't be silly Jon! You are the best company I've had in ages!"

Sansa told me merrily and I found myself believing her, even though I knew she was probably just being courteous, as always. She was being so sweet today… it was almost as if she was trying to make it up to me for all the times she had been cruel, angry or totally broken in my presence.

"Sansa I… I want to thank you for everything tonight… It means a lot to me."

I told her earnestly, tripping over the words and probably making a fool of myself in the process.

"There is no need to thank me for anything Jon. Watching you being happy was thanks enough."

Sansa told me with a pearly smile and a soft blush, placing her right hand tentatively on top of mine. Her touch was freezing cold, but extremely soft at the same time, sending tingles up my arm. I heard her sigh in content the moment it came in contact with my admittedly very warm hand, so I enveloped it with both of mine, giving her my warmth. A moment later she gave me her other hand as well with a pleading look. As if I would refuse her…

"I have a confession to make."

She said after a while, looking extremely nervous. My heart doubled its pace and my mouth went dry at her words.

"What is it?"

I croaked out, my voice sounding strange in my ears.

"Telling you those stories was not an impulsive thing. I… I've been preparing them since the moment I woke up this morning, trying to remember them perfectly, so I could capture every detail for you. I put them in order and sorted them into categories and I even tried to remember the ones I was not present in. They were usually the most fun ones and you all loved sharing them with father during dinner, so I thought it would be nice to remind you of them, even though I was not present myself."

The words were flowing out of her lips like water from a spring. I certainly wasn't expecting such a confession, but it made me smile anyway, because that was exactly the kind of thing Sansa the perfectionist would do. It didn't matter what she occupied her time with, she would always strive to do it flawlessly. She would pore over every detail until it was just right; until it was polished to perfection.

"Did I do well Jon? Did I help you at all?"

She asked, her question sounding more like a plea. Her whole expression was too vulnerable at this moment, especially her eyes, which appeared as deep and blue as the Narrow Sea. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth again and her fingers were drawing circles on my palms, sending chills down my spine.

"Aye, you did."

I replied hoarsely, unable to form a more eloquent reply. Her responding smile was brighter than the summer sun. Warmth filled my chest at the sight of it and my heart soared with happiness.

 _The only other times I have felt anything close to that, I've been drunk, but tonight I have barely drank half a skin of ale._

I mused, realizing I was drunk on her instead. Drunk on her smiles, her touch, her scent… and I craved to have a taste so much, I could hardly think straight.

 _Leave you bloody bastard._

My conscience urged me, but I found myself leaning forward, towards her. I only had a moment to assess the confusion evident on her face, before my lips came into contact with her forehead. The chaste kiss lasted only a moment and then I pulled back.

"Good night Sansa."

I told her huskily as I shifted to get on my knees. There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes and I understood perfectly the sentiment. Tonight had been so perfect, so joyful…

 _If only I could stay here forever._

I thought to myself as she told me good night. The moment I was out of the tent, I called for Ghost to go to her. He was already on his way, so I walked away from the camp, letting the darkness swallow me once more.

 **At last! I'm so glad his chapter is over! I had pondered and researched endlessly on strategies in order to come up with something that I believed was remotely good and that is the reason why I had avoided writing about it for so long… I simply had no idea before this very chapter what they would do. I know the second part was maybe a little too fluffy, but they deserved a break before the battle, don't you think?**


	12. Chapter 12

**MELISANDRE**

This march across the frozen land of the North appeared to be never-ending. The eyes of the wildling savages kept on following my every move, as if they feared I would burn them on the spot if they took their eyes off me. They had hated and mistrusted me before, but after the resurrection of Jon Snow, they openly feared me and stayed as far away from me as possible, calling me a witch and a demon behind my back…

They had even started wearing useless amulets made of weirwood around their throats, covered in runes I could not decipher. According to Tormund Giantsbane the runes were the symbols the First Men used to mark their weapons and armor for strength and protection, yet I could feel no power in them. They were just useless pieces of wood with scribbles on them. He wouldn't want to hear that though, so I kept silent.

Tormund Giantsbane was the only wildling in this camp who engaged me in conversation from time to time. He was crude and gruff, but his questions proved he was quite intelligent for an illiterate savage. Sometimes I even caught myself enjoying his company, especially during the nights there was not enough wood to light a fire and pray to the Lord so dawn would come.

Yesterday night I had prayed though, before the campfire. I had asked for R'hllor's protection and for his guidance. And the Lord had answered me, sending me visions in the flames, visions that danced before my irises, fleeting and shrouded in mist.

A grey girl on a dying horse running in the snow, as a group of men chased her. Black ships sailing on a sea of blood. A hand made out of green flame rising into the heavens. A terrible demon laughing at the carnage beneath his feet. A corpse with an eye that glowed ice-blue eye in the darkness, tearing at its own limbs. Two towers collapsing in a snowstorm, winged monsters bathing in fire and blood, a woman screaming in ecstasy as her heart burns…

The Lord had wanted more of me, so I let my blood flow in the flame and, as it dripped, he transformed it into fire inside my veins, burning me whole.

"Show me Jon Snow, Lord."

I had prayed fervently, as the fire consumed me. The visions had returned, more intense than before. In the crackle of the flame myriads of voices shouted out 'King'. I saw Jon Snow cleaning his bloody sword in a black pool, while a weirwood with the face of a wolf watched him. Soft, sad melodies echoed inside a dark tomb. Fire and ice danced together in a tight embrace. A pair of lovers writhed in passion. A venomous snake coiled around Jon Snow's throat, ready to deliver the killing blow. Shadow skulls all around whispering of death and darkness…

At that moment I couldn't take anymore and averted my eyes from the flames. My blood was no longer boiling lava. The pain and the ecstasy the fire had brought were gone as well and I was left with the task of deciphering the visions the Lord had granted me. Skilled as I was though in the art of reading the flames, I couldn't interpret most of them.

 _One thing is certain. That the Lord's chosen one is in danger once again and I have to warn him, to protect him._

I mused as I dismounted my mare. Night had begun to set and I would have to light my fire before the sun dipped in the horizon. The rest of the army had also stopped to make camp for the night and some of the wildlings had already started to erect their tents on the snow-covered ground.

"A rider ahead, coming north!"

One of the returning scouts shouted at the Magnar of Thenn, who was still ahorse at the southmost point of the camp. The Magnar rode towards the scout and, after a short conversation, spurred his horse forwards to find the rider himself.

 _A grey girl on a dying horse._

My mind whispered at me and I gripped the reigns tighter, suddenly eager to find out whether this vision would come true. For some reason, I felt something akin to the restlessness I had felt when I had my very first vision, more than a lifetime ago. I needed to see whether this one would come true, even though all my visions through the decades had come to pass in one way or another.

I didn't have to wait long. After a while Sigorn Thenn rode back with an extra lame horse following his own. In front of the Magnar sat stiffly a figure wearing a grey cloak. Everything was matching up, except for the men chasing her, but they would come soon enough.

I had already started to walk towards the pair when I spotted Lord Davos and Tormund Giantsbane moving towards the same direction, equally curious to find out who this rider was. When I got closer, I could see that Sigorn Thenn had four parallel bloody scratches on his cheek that had not been there before.

 _The girl is a fighter, a survivor._

The wildling dismounted and then helped the shivering girl down, offering her his cloak and standing tall as a lord in his copper armor that glinted in the light of the fires around us. She took it rather grudgingly, and draped it on her shoulders with trembling, bloody fingers. Then she turned around and took us all in. Her wild, frantic eyes fell on me and Lord Davos and she immediately scrambled towards us on unsteady feet.

"My Lord, my Lady, please I need to get back on the road! I'm being−"

"…chased by a group of men who mean you harm."

I finished for her and watched her eyes get wide as saucers. The men present were much less surprised by my knowledge of this particular information.

"How did you…? No never mind. If you already know, then you must also know I need to leave for Castle Black immediately. I'm barely half a day ahead of them. I can't let them catch me."

She told me with steel in her eyes, as she clutched the wildling's mantle tighter on her chest for warmth, with bony fingers still coated in the wildling commander's blood.

"Pardons my lady, but you should at least share our food and our fire for a while, to get back your strength."

Lord Davos suggested, and before she had a chance to protest, the Magnar started steering her towards a nearby campfire, ordering away the wildlings that previously sat around it. The moment I felt the kiss of the flames I sent a silent thanks to the Lord for his gift.

"The Lord of Light showed me you were coming… Lady…?"

"Alys Karstark of Karhold."

She quickly informed me and immediately looked towards the south, probably checking for riders in the horizon.

"I am Melisandre of Asshai, a red priestess in the service of the one true god, R'hllor. This is Lord Davos Seaworth, former Hand to the late King Stannis Baratheon."

"This is Tormund Giantsbane and this is Sigorn Thenn, the Magnar of Thenn, the two commanders of the wildling army."

I said, introducing us all to the young Lady Karstark. The wildlings murmured some pleasantries after some coaxing from the Onion Knight, Tormund rolling his eyes all the while and Sigorn struggling to pronounce the words in the Common Tongue.

"Apologies my lady, but why do you need to get to Castle Black? Do you have kin there who can protect you from these men?"

Lord Davos asked her and Alys Karstark scoffed at him.

"The man who sent them after me is my great-uncle Arnolf. I ride for Castle Black, in hopes that the Lord Commander will protect me from him."

She told us brusquely. Her impatience to get back on the road was quite obvious, even though she was still shivering uncontrollably.

"I fear the Black Brothers have not elected a new Lord Commander yet Lady Karstark."

The Onion Knight explained, while rubbing his neck nervously. The expression on her face changed from confusion, to shock and finally to dread, as all color seemed to drain from it completely.

"No… this can't be! Jon Snow can't be dead. He had just been elected. I read his letter myself a few moons ago. He was pleading us to send him more men. He can't be dead. I was only imprisoned for a turn of the moon… he can't be gone."

She spluttered helplessly. The firelight danced in her big, grey eyes and I thought I saw something there, a fleeting image, a vision…

 _Why did you show me this girl Lord? What is her purpose in the grand scheme of things?_

I asked as I abruptly turned my gaze to the fires, concentrating on their movement to catch that image again and view it fully. Amidst the cinders I saw myself lighting the ceremonial wedding pyres of R'hllor. Then I saw a battlefield in the snow where huge fires burned yellow and orange. Ashes rose in the sky to meet the falling snow. Dead men writhed as they burned and living men screamed as they died. Snow on the ground painted red as rubies. A night sky black and void of stars…

Suddenly my concentration broke by the sound of broken sobs.

I looked up to find the girl crying and muttering 'he can't be dead', while the three men exchanged looks, clearly uncomfortable by the situation.

 _Foolish child… there is no need for tears, for Jon Snow died so Azor Ahai would be reborn. It was his destiny all along…_

"Jon Snow's fire is still burning Lady Alys. He is the Lord's chosen one and R'hllor pulled him out of the darkness and into the light again, so he can fight for the living and defeat the Great Other."

I told her, but she just looked at me through watery eyes, full of confusion.

"What the Lady Melisandre means to say, is that Jon Snow is alive and well. He is currently raising an army to take back Winterfell from the Boltons and unite the North under the Stark rule once more. The wildling army you see here is marching under the Stark banner."

Davos Seaworth clarified as the maid dried her eyes with the hem of her cloak, trying to stop more tears from coming.

"The crow better be alive, cause I ain't going back north o' the Wall with them dead fuckers."

Tormund Giantsbane retorted, as a wildling girl walked over to the Magnar, offering him a steaming bowl of soup. He promptly passed it to Lady Alys beside him, who took a careful sip. After that first sip though, she started gulping it down greedily, emptying the bowl in mere minutes.

 _I was once like that, a lifetime ago… a little girl, weak and famished, fighting to survive, even though I had nothing to live for… but then I found the light of the Lord and my life had a purpose once again._

"What am I going to do? I can't let _him_ catch me and marry me to uncle Cregan! He is my father's age and he is twice widowed. Once he gets a child by me he will get rid of me, like his previous two wives!"

She exclaimed heatedly and an exasperated Sigorn Thenn told her something in the Old Tongue. His words were met with a blank expression on her part, so Tormund Giantsbane chose to elaborate.

"Sigorn here said that you are his wife now. He stole you properly, with a fight and all."

 _A wedding in the snow, before the Lord's sacred fire… between the wildling and the highborn maid?_

 _A wedding crucial for the outcome of the final battle._

I mused and suddenly the will of the Lord became clear as day in my mind. I turned my attention back to Lady Alys across of me. She had gotten up and she was slowly backing away from us, looking around the camp wildly, as if trying to find an opening from where she could flee.

"He said that, as your husband, he is going to kill those men for you and protect you. You don't have to run anymore."

Tormund Giantsbane continued, stopping her in her tracks before I had a chance to get up and stop her myself. There was mistrust in her eyes and suspicion, but there was also a flicker of hope.

 _She has to do it. Her only other alternative is death. Either by the hands of her uncle or by the harsh winter of the North… it doesn't really matter._

I realized, as the girl's brow furrowed and she bit her chapped lip in contemplation.

"Tormund here is right my lady. This development solves all your problems."

Lord Davos piped in, as Alys Karstark walked carefully back to our small circle around the fire, this time coming to sit beside me; as far away from the Magnar as possible.

"Yes I can see that my Lord, but I do not know this man. He could be worse than my uncle for all I know."

"The way I see it, you already know the kind o' man he is. Today you almost scratched his eye out and he hardly gave you a bruise."

Replied Tormund Giantsbane with a shrug. By her lack of response, I took it that the wildling spoke the truth. Not that it mattered in any way. It was R'hllor's will that they join their fires and it was my responsibility to see it done before the moon rose tonight.

"The Lord of Light has brought you two together for a reason Lady Alys. R'hllor has spoken to me in the flames and it is his will to join your fires and become one. This union between yourself and the Magnar is not for your sake, but for the Realm's. The cold winds are rising, my lady, and we must all do our part for the Battle for the Dawn."

I told her, while taking her cold hands inside my burning ones. I intended to be comforting and persuasive at the same time, but she appeared to be not only uncomfortable, but overwhelmed as well after my small, heartfelt speech. She pried her hands from mine and got up, turning her attention towards Lord Davos with a pleading look on her face.

"Lord Davos, could I have a word with you alone for a moment?"

She asked, while casting nervous glances to the rest of us. Her wildling 'husband' made to protest, but Tormund Giantsbane stopped him with a few whispered words and a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Of course my lady. I am at your disposal."

The Onion Knight replied with a warm smile. He took her hand and led her away from our fire and to somewhere more private. As they walked away, he turned his head back and our eyes met, for only a moment. Then they were both gone, leaving me in the company of the two wildling men talking to each other in their barbaric tongue. So I left as well, to light my own fire, and pray to the Lord,

 _for the night is dark and full of terrors._

ͽͼ

In the end, Alys Karstark agreed to join her fire with Sigorn Thenn. They had both wanted to say their vows before a weirwood tree, before the eyes of their false gods, but the moor around us had no trees, only rocks and ferns covered in white snow. Young Alys was running out of time though, so she accepted my offer to get married before the blessed fires of R'hllor. The Wildling seemed to have no problem with it. After all, according to his people's savage customs, she was already his wife. This marriage to him was just a chore he had to do in order to please his new bride.

I had helped the young maiden clean herself in my tent as best as possible and I even offered her one of my gowns to wear, but she refused the moment she saw its low neckline and touched the cold silk with her fingertips. This was no gown made for the cold of the North, but I had no need of wool or furs to keep me warm like mortal men did. I had the fire of R'hllor inside me and that was more than enough.

After the quiet ceremony was over, we all ate by the fire a meager dinner consisting of roast hare, vegetable soup and hard stale bread. Then the Magnar took his bride by the hand and led her to his tent to consummate their marriage.

 _Are they the lovers I saw in my vision?_

I wondered as I tried to remember their blurry features. The only thing I remembered was white limbs entwined in a passionate embrace. No faces, nothing recognizable…

The Magnar had the foresight to send a small party of wildlings to stalk the road for signs of the men chasing his bride and as the first rays of the sun appeared in the sky, they returned on the horses of the Karstark men, without prisoners. In the distance I could see the orange light of a fire, where they had put the bodies of the fallen to burn. Had I known they would kill and burn them on the spot, I would have joined them to make an offering to the Lord, to gain his favor in the battle to come.

 _It won't be needed. I've already seen myself walking atop the battlements of Winterfell, as the Stark banner dances in the wind. I've seen Jon Snow clean his sword in Winterfell's Godswood._

I thought to myself with a smile, caressing softly the pulsing ruby on the hollow of my neck.

 _The Lord has already granted us his favor._

 **DAVOS**

The cold breath of winter felt like icy needles on my cheeks. I had never felt this cold in my whole life. I was certain of it. Yet the Red Woman was riding beside me in her thin red silk dress, with the tops of her breasts exposed in the frozen winds. She should have been dead from the frost, yet her cheeks were as rosy as ever and there was the slightest trace of steam coming off her body, as if she was burning the air around her with her body heat.

It had taken us too long to reach Last Hearth from the Wall. We had taken the King's Road, but the snowstorm had held us back, making us march at a snail's pace. Of course there was also the fact that only a small amount of men were ahorse. That made the march even longer and more tedious.

 _We are here now. That's all that matters._

I thought to myself, as I gazed upon the castle in the distance. It stood upon the highest hill in the area and the land beneath it was barren, save for a small amount of soldier pines and sentinels covered in a blanket of snow. Three towers rose above the stone walls, standing tall and proud, but quite unimpressive.

After spending my entire childhood in the shadow of the Red Keep and most of my adult life at Dragonstone, I could not help but think that this castle was miniscule in comparison and very bland.

 _One could blame the Targaryens for a great many things, but one thing is certain: they knew how to make their castles…_

I mused as I stared back towards the south, where Winterfell was.

 _If I took the King's Road now, I would be home, at Cape Wrath with Marya in four turns of the moon. We could raise our remaining children there and maybe make−_

My string of thoughts got interrupted by the sight of numerous tendrils of smoke rising to the sky a few miles ahead of us. These were not travelling merchants. There were too many fires and many fires meant many men. There was a large camp up ahead, just down the slope we were currently ascending.

 _They are probably by the Last River…_

I thought to myself and I promptly turned around to look for Tormund Giantsbane. I found him squinting, towards the south trying to see better the pale grey smoke rising to the sky.

"There's an army up ahead."

"Aye."

"Where are the scouts?"

I asked him, the rising panic evident in my voice.

"Maybe taking a good look… maybe dead. Better wait a bit. See if they come. If they don't, there is no need to send others."

He replied nonchalantly and proceeded to bring everyone to a halt. I rode to the Red Woman. If anyone would know, it would be her.

"Worry not Lord Davos. There will be no battle before the moon turns."

Melisandre told me before I had the chance to ask, tossing me one of her mysterious smiles.

Her tone was arrogant as always and not in the least reassuring, yet I found myself feeling relief at her words.

 _She would know. If we were to die today, she would have seen it in her flames._

I reassured myself and without a word, I turned my gaze towards the south, waiting.

ͽͼ

"This is unheard of! We are part of the Stark army, just as you are!"

I exclaimed at the blonde boy currently standing in front of me with his hands crossed over his armored chest.

"I know this is… unconventional my Lord, but my men do not wish to share their camp with the wildlings."

Larence Snow told me resolutely, standing his ground, annoyance clear in his face and his tone.

"Do you hear yourself lad? In a fortnight those men are supposed to pose a united front against the Boltons. How do you expect them to bleed for each other in the battlefield when they can't even share a meal by the campfire?"

I asked him throwing my hands in the air in exasperation.

 _If Jon comes here and finds us in different camps, he is going to flip… and rightfully so._

I thought to myself as Larence Snow before me scuffed his feet on the hard earth. It seemed like I had tugged upon a string, so I pressed on.

"Young man, we are at war and now is no time for petty squabbles and old grudges. I know it is a hard decision to make and one your men will not take well, but being a leader means making this kind of choices for the greater good."

"Lord Seaworth I can see why Stannis Baratheon chose you for his Hand."

Said a little girl, younger than Shireen and shorter as well. Her face was stern and she was dressed in northern armor. On her breast, there was the black bear of Mormont on a green wood. In contrast to the young man beside her, the colors of her sigil were not inversed, so she was a trueborn daughter and not a bastard one.

"I will take that as a compliment lady…?"

"Lyanna Mormont, Lady of Bear Island."

She replied proudly, holding my gaze with her own.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance my Lady."

I told her with a bow, remembering the courtesies sweet Shireen had taught me all this time ago, in Dragonstone…

"Lord Davos, you are of the south, so you cannot possibly know what I'm about to tell you."

She started, looking at me in the eye without fear or embarrassment.

"House Mormont has suffered greatly from the wildlings during the centuries… almost as much as it has suffered from the reavers of the Iron Islands."

"But I chose to answer the call and fight beside the wildlings for the Starks of Winterfell and for the North. The wildlings should be welcome to our encampment by the river."

She informed me and looked sideways towards the bastard boy expectantly.

"Don't you think so Larence?"

The little girl asked him pointedly, as if she was waiting for him to protest. The young man turned red as a beet and his expression soured.

"It seems my opinion is of little importance. After all, my lady knows best."

Larence Snow told us in a clipped tone and then bowed stiffly before walking away. He had been humiliated by the little highborn girl and he probably needed to go lick his wounded pride.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards him. Had he been born on the right side of the blanket, a little girl of ten years would have never dared disrespect him that way. He would have been a lord in his own right and not a temporary one to be cast aside as soon as the 'rightful heir' came crawling out of the hole he was currently buried in.

"Thank you my lady, I am most grateful for your help."

I told her and she waved her hand dismissively, indicating that it had been nothing.

"Now if you'll excuse me Lady Mormont, I need to go back and inform the Free Folk of this development."

I told her and moved away with a bow, back to Tormund and the rest of the Wildlings.

ͽͼ

"That Southern prick needs to keep his hands to himself, or Sigorn is gonna shorten them for him, with that sharp axe o' his."

Tormund grumbled as he ate his broth, probably having heard how Larence Hornwood had kissed Lady Karstark's hand and taken her aside to talk with her privately, all the while keeping a hand at her back.

"The lad meant well, I'm sure."

I assured him, having seen first-hand how concerned Larence Snow had appeared for her and how ready he was to protect her, had she been mistreated by the wildlings. Of course, that had not been the case and Lady Alys had no trouble convincing the young man that she was indeed well and that nobody had forced that marriage on her.

By the way she smiled every time she was with her new husband and the sounds that came off their tent every night, even a fool would be able to tell she was telling the truth and that she was indeed very happy with Sigorn Thenn.

"Can you believe that he stole all those men from the Bastard o' Bolton? I heard 'em say so while I made my tent."

Tormund asked me, disbelief evident in his tone and his expression as well.

"Not all of them, but yes he did take about two hundred Stark royalists."

Tormund simply grunted disapprovingly and shoveled more broth in his mouth, washing it down with some bitter ale from his skin.

"He is not that bad. He is just very young and inexperienced in leading an army. He's never done this before and he clearly has no idea what to do half of the time."

"He is green as grass, aye. And he is far too pretty for a man grown. I could smash that straight nose o' his… help him look more like a man."

He commented and I laughed at his reasoning.

 _He'll get plenty of scars in the battles to come. By the end of it all he'll probably be pretty no longer… if he stays alive that long._

I thought to myself, sobering up quite fast at the macabre image of Larence Snow dead, with half his face turned into a bloody pulp.

"Better refrain from doing that. Things are tense enough as it is."

I told him as I got up with a groan, stretching my back. It was constantly sore these days, along with my legs, from spending all those hours riding in the cold.

"I'll go for a walk. Enjoy your meal."

I said and he mumbled in agreement, with a mouth overstuffed with food.

 _If Shireen was here to see him eat like that, she would have already started teaching him how to eat properly._

I thought to myself as I climbed the slope, following the Crone's Lantern that shone in the darkening sky. All day I would suppress thoughts of her, but I could not stop them when I laid on my sleeping furs at night, so I took long walks in the cold, to tire myself enough to fall into a dreamless sleep before I had a chance to really think of anything.

 _I thought I would be sleeping on a bed tonight, but that was not to be…_

I mused, as I recalled my conversation with Larence Snow some hours earlier, after we had already settled in the camp.

The boy said he sent an envoy the moment they laid eyes on the castle, but he came back to them on his horse, minus his head. The Umbers had killed him, even though he went unarmed, baring a white flag. The lad said the man's name was Clem. He had three sons and two daughters and he used to be a blacksmith before the war. He was a Northman, faithful to House Stark and still, the Umbers, whose lord was once Robb Stark's second in command, cut off his head for no apparent reason…

 _Why the hell would they do that? Jon was certain they would join us, else he wouldn't have sent us here._

I thought as I mechanically kept on climbing, distantly registering the feel of my boots sinking in the pristine snow. I got to the top just in time to see the last traces of red in the horizon fade into blue. I looked around for a while as I waited for my breathing to return to normal. What I saw though made my heart stop and then beat twice as fast. Twenty feet away from me stood a blackened stake. The earth around it was strewn with charred pieces of wood covered in snow.

 _The Red Woman held a burning here to ensure King Stannis's victory._

I realized and suddenly the blood in my veins turned to ice. I knew. I knew who burned at this stake. I knew, yet I walked closer still and fell on my knees before it.

With shaky hands I started to wipe away the snow, my movements becoming frantic after a few moments, looking for something, searching for a part of _her_ amidst the snow and the coals.

I could see nothing before me, yet my blindness was not due to the dying light of the sun. It was the flood of tears in my eyes that obscured my vision.

Sweet Shireen was the daughter I never had. She was kind and selfless and always smiling… and the Red Woman had burned her on a stake for her king's blood, to gain the favor of her cruel, demonic god.

I knew she was dead. I knew it since the moment we got the news of the King's defeat by the Boltons, but I never would have imagined she had suffered in death like that. I never would have thought Stannis, a man I had admired with all my being, would be capable of sacrificing his own daughter in the flames to win a war.

I clenched my fists in the snow, feeling something sharp pierce at my right palm through my glove. A broken sob escaped my lips and the tears finally fell, hot and bitter, chocking me. I opened my right fist expecting to see another piece of half-burned wood, but I saw the small figure of a stag I had carved a lifetime ago, when Shireen was still alive and smiling.

I stared at it with a blank expression, almost expecting it to disappear any moment now. It was something of hers. I put it in my pocket reverently and wiped away my tears, walking back to the camp with only one thought in mind.

 _Revenge._

 **I believe it was about time I wrote in another POV, about what's going on with the rest of the Stark army. I hope I did well. It's the first time I tried to get inside the head of a religious fanatic, so please be kind!**

 **The next chapter will be similar to this one, with POV's of Brienne and Theon, because they precede Sansa's chapter.**

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	13. Chapter 13

**BRIENNE**

 _Bloody Northmen._

I thought to myself, as I shifted my hands for the umpteenth time tonight in a vain attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.

I never thought I would find myself a prisoner of war when I chose to become a knight, and yet this was the second time I found myself in this position. The only positive thing about my situation was that there were no Bloody Mummers this time around.

 _Those Northmen may be rough and distrustful, but compared to Vargo Hoat, they are as mellow and kind as septons._

I thought as I shifted once again to let the blood flow in my numb hands. I had completely lost feeling of them and I was afraid, by the time Lady Sansa came, most of my fingers would be black with frostbite. A quiet moan from Pod made me shove that unpleasant thought away, because I had no right to complain. Poor Podrick had broken his leg when his mount collapsed from starvation under him and no Maester had been there to set it for him. I hadn't even dared to try, in fear I would make things worse with my huge clumsy fingers. When the Northmen found our camp, I did not even attempt to fight them. They marched under the Stark banner. I served Lady Stark…

Yet, they proclaimed us Lannisters and put us both in chains… even Pod, who couldn't even get up to make water by himself. But they fed us. They kept us as warm and sheltered as possible and, after some persuasion from my part, they even found someone to set Pod's broken leg, which had already started to mend crookedly. Podrick had to be held down by two men, as a third broke his leg again with one quick move. Pod screamed the moment the bone snapped and he screamed some more when the man put it back in place.

Since that day, he mostly suffered in silence. Knowing him, he was probably doing it to make me worry less, to appear strong, but it had the opposite effect. This silence in the tent was unnerving and unnatural, so I talked for the both of us. I told him of Tarth, of my father, of King Renly and of Lady Catelyn… of Jamie. Of anything really.

I was out of stories to tell though and my patience was running thin.

 _I should be out there, with Lady Sansa, keeping her safe._

That boy, Larence Snow, didn't even tell me where she was or when she was coming. He only told me she was with her brother and that when they arrived, we would be meeting the Stranger.

I was brought out of my musings by the sound of ice breaking underfoot. Several sets of heavy footsteps were making their way towards the tent I 'shared' with Pod. It was not dawn yet, so it surely was not time to break our fast with the weak broth they usually brought us and nobody would be coming for a chat during this hour of night.

 _Maybe Lady Sansa has come at last._

I thought, feeling hope bloom in my chest at the mere possibility it was the crimson-haired girl with her half-brother coming towards us. The veil of misunderstanding would be lifted and we would be free again. _I_ would be free again, to fulfill my oath. And this time, I wouldn't accept her dismissal. I would make sure she would have me. Failure was not an option.

Suddenly the flap of the tent opened and four tall and burly Northmen came in, all of them dressed for winter, but with chainmail ringing under their furs and various weapons strapped on their belts.

"Is Lady Stark here?"

I asked them impatiently, looking from one man to the other in quick succession, searching for answers in their hard, bearded faces. Instead of answering me, one of them pulled out his dirk and put it at my throat, while another went to my back, to unchain me from the post. The man's breath smelled of sour ale and rot. The smell made my stomach churn, but I did not move; his dirk had already pierced the skin and a small tickle of warm blood was making its way towards my tunic. The moment the chains that bound me to the post fell to the floor with a clank, he pressed harder and more blood flowed. I had no idea why he bothered. My hands were still shackled together with iron manacles and even if they weren't, they should have figured out by now that I had no desire to escape. I was waiting for lady Sansa after all. The man behind me yanked the chain binding my wrists impatiently, urging me get on my feet.

"Get on with it Lannister bitch. We don't have all day."

He me spat at me and I struggled to get up faster. A cry of agony from Podrick made me jerk suddenly towards him, to help him, but the dirk followed me, the steel sharp and cold on my throat.

"Now, don't you try anything funny wench, or I'll cut your throat open like a pig's."

The one with the dirk hissed at my face menacingly with brown eyes full of hate. He had a scar on his face, which started at his temple and disappeared inside his thick black beard, drawing the attention away from his rotten teeth and his hooked nose.

"I won't try anything. I swear it on my honor."

I told him calmly, trying to breathe through my mouth to avoid gagging. He scoffed at me and sheathed his dirk, as the man behind me poked me with something equally sharp at my spine, gesturing me to get out. Podrick hissed somewhere behind me, but I was already halfway out of the tent. I stumbled on the ice, but I regained my footing and kept on moving. After taking a few steps, I craned my neck to the back to see Pod.

He was being dragged carelessly by the two other men on the snowy path. His face was ashen and the only spec of color on it was the bright red blood on his lip, where he had broken the skin with his teeth in his attempt it to keep quiet. A sharp stab of pain at my spine made me turn my head straight ahead once again and keep on walking.

 _I wish I had my sword. If I did, they would think twice of treating Pod that way._

I thought despondently with my head down. Suddenly at the corner of my eye, I saw the hem of a mud-soiled blue dress. I turned my head immediately to see the woman wearing it.

"Lady Stark!"

I shouted at the tall, hooded figure of a girl, pausing mid-step. From behind, she appeared thinner than I remembered, but with her back just as straight and poised. She was talking to a man animatedly, while pointing to the north. Another stab came, with enough force to break the skin this time, but I did not move. She had heard me and she was turning towards us.

 _Thank the gods! We'll finally be free!_

I thought, but my relief was short lived. The face I saw when she turned was not Lady Sansa's. It belonged to another girl entirely. One with a long face, a pointy chin and grey eyes. This girl had brown hair, woven in a braid draped to the side. She was definitely not Sansa Stark, but she looked enough like Arya to give me pause. It wasn't Arya though. That was plain enough by the way she looked at me, with blank eyes that spoke of no recognition whatsoever.

"Move it cunt."

The man behind me said gruffly thrusting his dagger hard at my spine. I complied numbly, feeling more confused than ever.

I found myself standing before a green tent. At its top flew the bear of the Mormonts and the direwolf of the Starks. The man shoved me inside with more force than necessary, making me lose my footing once again.

 _Gods, it's so warm in here._

I thought to myself when I regained my footing, thankful beyond belief for the magnificent heat. At the center of the tent there was a fire blazing and near it was table with plates of food strewn over it. Larence Snow sat on one of the chairs, next to a bald Maester and two bearded men I had never seen before. One of them was a ginger with broad shoulders that looked tall and muscular, even seated as he was. He was wearing odd clothes, which looked more like sheepskins stitched together than regular clothes and the brazen way he looked at me was vexing.

 _Wildling._

My mind whispered to me as my eyes travelled to the other man, the brown haired one. He was middle-aged and terribly unremarkable. He was so plain of face, I could have easily mistaken him for a cobbler or a fisherman had I seen him for the first time outside of this tent.

 _He certainly is important, since he is seated on this table._

The man behind me unshackled me and I was about to rub my protesting wrists, when Podrick was dumped beside me like a sack of grain. At the sound of his whimper I turned around, fumbling at my belt for my sword and finding only thin air.

"Lady Brienne… Sir Payne."

I turned around once again, towards the girl that had spoken. I had not seen her before. She was short and skinny and no more than ten years of age. She had appeared from behind the Maester and she was looking at me with a look that could barely pass as polite.

"Welcome to my tent. Forgive my men, they have no manners. Please sit."

She beckoned us as she gestured for the men that "escorted" us here to leave. The girl was dressed in leathers and chainmail and she even had a short, skinny sword strapped on her belt, like a warrior.

 _I had heard stories of the Mormont women, fighting like men in the battlefield, but I had never seen one in person._

I thought to myself, remembering how those stories had inspired me to become a warrior myself, when I was a child no older than the one that was standing now before me.

"The Lady Mormont I presume?"

I asked, straightening my back to stand at my full height.

"Your guess was correct my lady. I am Lyanna Mormont, daughter of Maege Mormont and Lady of Bear Island."

She said haughtily, with an imposing voice. She seemed to be expecting something of me and I suddenly remembered she had beckoned us to sit at the table with her. I gingerly picked Podrick off the floor and helped him walk towards it. His breathing was shallow and labored and he was shaking from the effort. Or the pain… I bore most of his weight and helped him sit, with the outmost care. Then I took a seat as well and found myself staring at the black, unsettling eyes of this child.

"I believe you already know Larence Snow. This Maester Lyndon who serves house Mormont."

"And I believe you haven't had the honor of meeting Lord Davos Seaworth nor Ser Tormund Giantsbane, both trusted friends and advisors to Lord Snow."

She said, making the introductions as brief as possible. The man named Davos Seaworth got up and bowed to me murmuring pleasantries, followed by the Maester, but the other two men remained seated. Larence Snow was stern as always, with his arms crossed and his eyes full of contempt. The wildling continued licking the grease off his large fingers while looking at me in the eye. He released his middle finger from his lips with a pop and winked at me, making me blush with his forwardness.

"Would you like some wine? Some roasted hare perhaps? I have not tasted the wine myself, but the hare is exceptional."

Lady Mormont said politely, with a tone that betrayed she was going though her lines, as if they were a script she had learned by heart.

"No wine for me, thank you, but I think Podrick would be glad to drink some, to numb the pain."

I replied curtly, pairing my last words with a reproachful glare towards the blond guard at the door. She ignored it completely, as if it never happened and poured a cup of mulled wine for Pod herself, filling it to the brim. The young squire drank it greedily, mumbling thanks under his breath.

"What about some food? It is almost dawn, you must−"

"Why are we here? Where is Lady Sansa?"

I asked her, not really in the mood to play come-into-my-castle with this child. I saw her eyes become twin chips of dragonglass and her lips a thin, white line. I had angered her…

"You are here, as a courtesy of your noble birth. You are the heir to Evenfall Hall and, prisoner or not, your virtue must needs be kept intact. As the only noble lady here, I had been entrusted with the task of keeping you my prisoner, until the Starks arrive, which will be any day now, I presume."

She replied curtly.

"Then who was the other girl I saw outside? She was a maiden of noble birth and she looked like a Stark, but she was neither Arya nor Sansa Stark."

"I believe you are speaking of Lady Alys Karstark."

Davos Seaworth replied with a warm smile.

"In the North they say that Stark and Karstark are of one blood. It seems though that Cregan and Arnolf Karstark have forgotten their blood and their oaths altogether and sided with the Bastard of Bolton."

He continued, his smile now lost to grimness.

 _That is the most information I've had in days._

I mused, thankful for finally getting some insight at the recent developments in the North.

"Then why is she here, if the Karstarks have allied with the Boltons?"

I asked, hoping I would get some more. The more I knew, the better I would be able to keep Lady Sansa safe.

"I was under the impression that you are our prisoner and not the other way around. I don't know what you do in the South, but here, in the North, it's not the prisoner who gets to ask the questions."

Lyanna Mormont said harshly, with a glare towards Lord Seaworth for indulging me. He didn't seem to notice though as the red-headed wildling was whispering something in his ear. I saw him shake his head negatively in response and the wildling smiled widely. His whole expression reminded me that of a child's who just got his nameday present early.

"I already told you, you're wasting your time with them. They not only refuse working for the Lannisters, even after we found damning evidence attesting to the fact, but they also have the audacity to claim they are in the service of Lady Stark."

The bastard commander said with a look of annoyance and scorn in his face. The girl chose to ignore him and turned her attention to me.

"Lady Brienne, could you please tell us what brought you here, to the North?"

She asked me, while propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands, waiting as it seemed for my 'confession'. I momentarily entertained the thought of denying her, but that would mean we would be driven out of the tent… The very warm tent… where there were comfortable chairs… where our hands were free and Pod was not in pain…

With that, I decided to indulge the child and tell her my story. They let me talk for a long time, stopping me for clarification only a handful of times. By the time I finished, the Maester had left and Podrick was passed out drunk on his chair after emptying the whole carafe of wine by himself. A couple of men had taken away the empty plates and there now rested only Oathkeeper, my sack of silver and Tommen Baratheon's decree.

Lady Mormont was looking at me with dark, fathomless eyes that betrayed nothing, and Larence Snow was glaring at me openly. Lord Davos on the other hand looked a little befuddled and lost, while the wildling, Tormund appeared to be listening with rapt attention, seemingly engrossed in my story.

"You should abandon knighthood and join a mummers' troupe my lady. You weave quite captivating stories."

Larence Snow commented in mockery as he took a silver coin from the open sack before him and tossed it in the air, only to catch it again with a swift flick of his wrist.

"I only speak of the facts."

I told them, offended by his less than subtle insinuations.

"I cannot deny that it explains how you came into the possession of the royal decree, signed by Tommen Waters, or Lannister, or Baratheon, or whatever his name is. It also explains the sword and the money, but I believe Larence here has another story in mind."

Lyanna Mormont said darkly, as she straightened her back on her seat, trying to appear taller. She was a short child, but her presence was imposing and, in a way, even threatening, which was quite absurd, considering I could snap her neck like a twig whenever I felt like it.

"Care to share it with the rest of us?"

She challenged the blonde lad, relaxing in her chair once more. Larence Snow's jaw clenched in annoyance for a moment, clearly displeased by the way the little girl was addressing him. A moment later he had turned his attention back to me, with hazel eyes full of scorn.

"I had a rough draft of it in mind, but now I believe I have filled in the gaps."

The blonde man said in a measured and deliberately calm voice.

"I believe the Kingslayer took you on his side while you were running in the Riverlands together, offering you riches beyond your imagination should you return him safely to King's Landing. But the Kingslayer came back crippled and I guess his whore Queen was not particularly inclined to reward you for a job poorly done. Probably the Kingslayer took pity on you and gave you that garish sword as payment. It was useless to him anyway, crippled as he was and everyone knows a Lannister always pays his debts…"

"But a sword is not money in your pocket, so he gave you another task, one his sister would pay good money for. To find the Stark girls and hand them over to the Queen. The Boy King himself wrote you a decree, gave you a big fat purse full of silver and sent you up the King's Road to find the remaining Starks. And then, he gave you a Lannister squire as an extra parting gift."

By the time his version of the story was over, I was sitting there, gaping at her like a fish out of the water, flabbergasted and at a loss of words.

"No, it's not like that."

I told them with conviction, looking each of them in the eye when I finally got back my voice. I could not understand why Larence Snow hated me so much.

 _It's not you he hates, but the Lannisters. And maybe he has a good reason for it._

I realized, suddenly remembering that thousands of Northmen had perished at the hands of the Lannisters during the war of five kings. It seemed like a lifetime ago, when hardly two years had passed.

"If it were so Larence, then there is only one thing I do not understand…"

The little lady said, interrupting my thoughts.

"We all know the Lannisters are vain, but, if this has been their plan all along, why would they make her look so… so Lannister?"

Lady Mormont asked the bastard commander, taking him aback with her question.

"I believe we all agree that if you had chosen different attire, dumped the squire and the sword, you would have already not only delivered both girls in King's Landing, but also spent your nice sack of gold."

She concluded rather skeptically, as she assessed me with her dark eyes.

"I would never do that. I had taken a solemn vow to−"

"Please! Even a fool with the mind of a turnip would know you for a Lannister with one glance at you."

Larence Snow scoffed, interrupting me mid-sentence.

"Larence is right, but, as Lady Brienne said, the ladies met her only briefly. They saw a Lannister lapdog out for a big reward and they turned her down."

Said the little lady. I bit my lip at her comment, because I knew she was right. To both girls, I had turned up wearing the skin of their enemy. It was no surprise they had shunned me… I had been an utter fool, a failure…

"Pardons my lady, but the Lannisters are not that sloppy. They took the throne from the Baratheons and kept it throughout all this war and unrest with minimum casualties on their part. That wouldn't have been possible had they been prone to such stupid, careless mistakes."

Said Lord Seaworth and Lady Mormont nodded in agreement. Larence Snow on the other hand had stopped tossing the silver stag in the air and he was glaring at me once again, while Tormund the wildling simply kept on listening, his face void of emotions.

"Since when did you become so well versed in the Lannister way of thinking?"

The bastard asked Davos Seaworth with eyes narrowed in suspicion. And the man opened his mouth to defend himself.

"He's right."

Podrick slurred incomprehensively beside me, making all eyes turn to him in surprise. He was no longer passed out on the table. His bleary eyes were open and pointed at Larence Snow.

"The Queen's always schemin' and Lord Tyrion's always comin' up with clever plans when he's in 'is cups."

The squire mumbled and put his head in his hands, pressing on his temples to alleviate the headache he certainly had.

 _Did you have to open your mouth now of all times?_

I wanted to shout at him, exasperated beyond words, fumbling in my mind for the right words to say to minimize the damage he had caused.

"Jamie Lannister is nothing like them, or his father for that matter. He has admittedly done terrible things in his life, but plotting and scheming is not one of them."

I told them with renewed urgency, fearful for Pod's life. Larence Snow looked like he was about to give his men order to take our heads and the little girl would surely let him.

 _They may not kill me, because of my position, but Pod is expendable._

"I know it sounds absurd, but Jamie Lannister once wanted to be an honorable knight. He knows he failed to be one, but he is still holding on to the last vestiges of his honor. And all this, is him trying to do good for a change."

I explained, gesturing towards the table where my possessions lay.

"The Kingslayer has no honor."

Larence Snow seethed at me, clasping the coin so tight in his palm, that his knuckles became bone-white.

"Aye, that is known in all of the Seven Kingdoms and yet, I cannot deny Lady Brienne's story makes an awful lot of sense."

Said the little girl, her face marred with lines that spoke of skepticism. Lord Davos nodded in agreement and the blonde man got abruptly up, tossing the now bloody stag inside the bag with the rest.

"I will not sit here any longer and listen to that woman praise my brother's killer. You are welcome to interrogate her all you like. I have better things to do."

Said the bastard commander curtly, not even sparing a glance my way. He was looking towards the guards at the door instead, gaining their attention.

 _Mother have mercy… what have you done Jamie? What have I done?_

I felt sick. In my attempt to rectify Pod's mistake, I had made things so much worse.

"Take the drunk one back to the tent and chain him."

He ordered them. Nobody made a move to stop them. The little girl and the two men on the table just watched with solemn faces, saying nothing.

 _I can't let them separate us! I can take Oathkeeper from the table and put it at the bastard boy's throat. That'll convince him to let us go fast enough. And then I'll… I'll…_

I had no idea what I would do next. We had nowhere to go. We would be in the North, during winter, without horses, without provisions and with a small army of Northmen chasing us through the snows.

 _Larence Snow hates the Lannisters and with good reason, but he won't hurt him, not until Lady Sansa comes._

I told myself and gritted my teeth as I watched the two guards drag Pod out, followed by Larence Snow.

"Rodge, would you please cuff lady Brienne and escort her to lady Karstark's tent? We're done here."

Lyanna Mormont ordered a guard and he swiftly came beside me to comply with her orders, trying to pull my hands back to cuff them, to no avail. I was much stronger than him and heavier as well. The wildling appeared amused by the situation, while Lord Seaworth was clearly uncomfortable. It was quite evident by the way he kept on staring at the grain of the wooden table, as if it fascinated him somehow.

"I'd rather go to my old tent, where Podrick is."

I informed the child and she frowned at me, a small crease forming between her brows. Tormund the wildling started to laugh when the guard behind me lost his balance and fell on his ass by a simple shift in my stance.

"I would advise you not to force my hand Lady Brienne. I already told you, you are my prisoner now, in order for your virtue to remain intact. But make no mistake. I will have no qualms to order Will and Rodge here to beat you bloody if you do not comply with my orders."

She threatened and somehow I found myself believing her, so I put my hands back with a scowl on my face and let Rodge escort me out, all the while listening to the Wildling's laughter behind me.

 **REEK**

I woke with the feeling of a hand running through my hair, pulling at the knots gently and massaging my scalp with unmistakable tenderness. For a moment I thought I was abed with a woman I had bought for the night and I was about to moan in pleasure, but suddenly reality hit me on the face like a tidal wave and the moan died in my throat.

 _Gods no… not on a bed. Not like a… a…_

The thought was too terrible to complete, even in my mind. Lord Ramsay's fingers continued playing with my hair. I was wide awake now and horror stricken.

 _He is too close._

I realized, recognizing the feeling. His closeness always made me feel as if thousands of maggots were crawling under my skin, waiting to be let out with a slice of his knife.

Lord Ramsay was rarely affectionate, but whenever he showed such tenderness, he always asked for something in return. Something terrible.

"I know you're awake Reek."

He told me in a sing-song voice, his lips mere inches away from my ear. The feel of his breath on my neck caused every hair on my body to rise in revulsion. I did not cringe away from him though. I knew better than that.

"Are you trying to avoid me?"

He asked in an amused voice. Nothing in it betrayed he was going to pull my head back by my hair violently. The pain on my scalp was sharp, much sharper than it should be and I realized I had hurt my head hard sometime before falling asleep. The shock and the pain made me open my eyes, so now I was looking at him. He was propped on his elbow, eying me the way a rabid dog does a juicy piece of meat. His pale torso was bare and his garnet earring was shining dark red like fresh blood against his neck.

"No my Lord. Never."

I squeaked in terror, barely hearing my own voice through the deafening pounding of my heart. The situation was familiar and yet terrifyingly alien. Theon Greyjoy used to wake beside a naked woman almost every morning after a night of vigorous fucking, but I wasn't Theon Greyjoy anymore. I wasn't even a man, truth be told…

His right hand left my head, so he could trail softly the scars on my back, as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

"Don't you want to know about the boy Reek?"

He inquired with lazy smile on his face, observing my face with cold eyes in the color of dirty ice.

 _What boy?_

I wondered, and suddenly I gasped, because it all came back to me. I shook my head vehemently in denial before I had the chance to think my answer through. Too late I realized it was the wrong one to give.

Lord Ramsay's smile abruptly turned into an angry scowl as he wormed a pair of fingers inside a barely healed cut between my ribs. The stab of pain drew an inaudible gasp from my lips, which made the Bolton Bastard smile again, a cruel smile.

"Tell me the truth Reek, else I'll take the skin off your lips next, or cut off your lying tongue and pin it on the wall."

He threatened as he pressed his fingers on my lips, smearing blood all over them. His touch, paired with his words sent a shudder through me.

 _Lord Ramsay is a sweet man and merciful. It's my fault whenever he hurts me. I only have to please him. Only that… And remember my name. I must never forget it. It's Reek._

I told myself and wetted my dry lips with a flick of my tongue to speak. The taste of blood on my tongue acted as a reminder of his threat, spurring me on to give him a reply he would like better

"I… my Lord… the boys, we… we dipped their heads in tar. It can't be…"

I stuttered pathetically and he laughed at me.

"Oh Reek… you know as well as I that both boys left Winterfell alive. And now Whoresbane brought the little one back in my hands. It's the finest gift I've had since you gave me Winterfell my sweet Reek."

He said, as he brought his hand down my ribs, counting them one by one. When he reached my hip, he stopped and let his rest there, the way a lover would.

"It could be a trick my lord. The Umbers… they were loyal to the Starks for centuries. He surely means to betray you"

I told him, a treacherous part of me wishing in its heart of hearts that it was indeed so. He released a loud sigh, too theatrical to be real.

"My Reek, you are the only one I trust. You and my hounds."

He said as he drew circles on my hip with his thumb.

"Whoresbane has no love for me, but he is no fool. He knows where House Umber's interests lie and right now they lie with us and not Stark's bastard. He wants the wildlings gone and I'm the only one who can deliver."

"And that's why he brought me the Stark boy, to sweeten the pot. Even if he hadn't brought the direwolf's head, even if Cregan hadn't commended on the boy's resemblance to the Young Wolf, your reaction would have been more than enough to convince me it was indeed him and not an imposter."

"As you say my Lord."

I told him, looking at his chest, rather than his face.

"Don't you want to know what I'm gonna do to the little wolf-pup?"

"If you so wish my lord."

I replied, now knowing for sure that this was the right answer to his question.

"I was considering following the same training process I did with you my Reek."

He said with an evil smile and I almost gaped at him, forgetting myself momentarily.

 _No! Rickon is only a child! My lord is surely jesting! A jolly jest, is all!_

I thought, trying to hastily bury the treacherous thought that had flashed in my mind like lightning and praying he hadn't seen it in my eyes. It would be reason enough for another flaying. Or something worse…

"For now I'll leave him in the dungeons, until he's nice and weak. He'll be ready soon enough, and then the real fun will begin."

As he spoke, I could see his manhood straining against the laces of his breeches. Disgust filled me, along with trepidation. My skin started to feel clammy and the drumming of my heart was deafening enough to almost miss his next words.

"He's a wild one… he'll be a challenge. I will break him though and the breaking will be so sweet my Reek. The only thing that would make it sweeter would be having the Bastard of Winterfell there to witness it. And my sweet wife too… Maybe I should wait for them to come to me, considering the recent developments. What do you think Reek? Wouldn't that be perfect?"

"Yes my lord."

"Since you agree, I'm sure you'll be happy to help with this plan, won't you Reek?"

He asked sweetly, his voice deep and husky, almost enticing. In response my stomach dropped with trepidation and the stumps, where my fingers used to be began to ache.

I nodded my head in agreement, not really trusting myself to speak at the moment.

"Good! From now on then you'll be sleeping in the dungeons and you'll wait. When the bastard of Winterfell comes for his little brother you will help him and give him the key, just like Kyra gave you the key in the Dreadfort, remember?"

The memory made it hard to breathe.

"Yes my lord, I remember."

I whispered and then realized what he had asked of me.

 _Jon Snow will drive his sword through my gut and take the key from my cold dead body._

I thought with a shudder. Part of me dreaded it. Part of me wanted it.

"I live to serve you my lord. I'm yours. Your Reek."

I whispered weakly. He was smiling, but his smile made for a frightening image. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I shouldn't.

"Of course you are. You are mine!"

He said and his pupils dilated, making his normally pale eyes look almost completely black.

 _Don't look away. Don't close your eyes._

I kept on repeating, but I was too weak to obey. I couldn't do it. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting, praying…

 _Not that. Please, anything but that._

The bed creaked and the soft sheets rustled as he shifted on them. Both sounds reminded me of things from a different life, a life at the other side of the looking-glass, where I was whole, where I was a man, a prince…

 _I'm Reek now. Lord Ramsay's creature. I have to remember it. Now and always. Reek, reek, reek, reek…_

ͽͼ

The south gate was gaping open like the mouth of a dragon in the stories Old Nan used to tell. Huge icicles framed its stone arch, pale white and sharp, like huge misshapen teeth, making the resemblance even more prominent. On the other side though there was no darkness. No flames. Only snow, as far as the eye could see. And soldiers. A small army was making its way through the snows, about five hundred strong, all of them mounted. The steel of their armor shone like diamonds in the sun, reflecting the light almost as much as the white snow on the ground.

I didn't need to strain my eyes though to see the banners they marched under.

 _At least I still have that. My eyesight is as sharp ever and he can do nothing about it, except gouge my eyes out._

I thought listlessly, as a small party emerged from amidst the bulk of the army, riding towards the castle. It consisted of five riders, all men in chainmail, except for one, who was probably a woman. Judging by the yellow banners with the crossed rusted axes, that woman was the Lady Dustin herself, answering the call Roose Bolton had made just before his death.

I looked to my left, where Lord Ramsay stood perfectly still, flanked by Damon Dance-for-me and Skinner. All three of them watched the approach of Lady Dustin's party with smiles of varying emotions on their faces. Damon was grinning cockily as ever and Skinner was smiling slyly, but Lord Ramsay… his smile was terrifying. It was a one that spoke of true joy and the Bolton Bastard was this happy only when pain and suffering were involved.

It was the exact same smile he had yesterday morning, when he ordered me to go empty his chamber pot and found Beth Cassel crouched naked in a corner, wailing while holding her wrist with bruising force. Her pinky finger was flayed to the knuckle and blood was dripping on her feet, painting them−

"Lady Dustin! I bid you welcome to Winterfell!"

Ramsay Bolton greeted the highborn woman, with a flourish that was more mocking than courteous. She ignored him completely. Instead of answering him she dismounted in a leisured pace and started looking around in the yard, searching for something, but obviously coming up short.

"Where is Roose?"

She asked in an annoyed voice, addressing nobody in particular and actively avoiding making eye-contact with Lord Ramsay. The look on Lady Dustin's face had always been slightly arrogant, with undertones of bitterness, but now both sentiments were out on full force, along with barely contained loathing.

 _Of course it does… she hates Lord Ramsay. She cannot abide him. She blames him for the death of sister's son, Domeric…_

I thought to myself as I watched Lord Ramsay's smile widen even more.

"I fear my dear father is otherwise indisposed."

He said with thinly veiled sarcasm, a sickly-sweet smile plastered on his face.

"Tell him I answered his call and I now wish to see him. He will find some time for me."

She said dismissively, as if she was speaking to one of her servants. I winced at her tone, knowing Lord Ramsay would not take kindly to getting ordered around by her.

"Mind your tone woman. This is your liege lord you're addressing. Show some respect!"

Said Cregan Karstark, who just showed up, bundled in his heavy black cloak. He chastised her with unmatched air of superiority, looking down on her as if she was a worm under his boot. I watched her carefully, as realization dawned on her face, her expression changing from arrogant to distraught in a handful of heartbeats. Then it became stone.

"What did you do to him?"

She hid her fear well behind the façade of anger and superiority, but Lord Ramsay smelled fear from miles away, like a hound. She had no chance. None at all. I knew that well.

"Me?"

The Bolton Bastard asked, widening his pale eyes in feigned innocence and shock.

"The nerve!"

Cregan murmured somewhere behind me in exasperation.

"Surely that was your grief speaking my Lady. I would never harm my sweet father. It was the enemies of House Bolton who killed him, along with my new stepmother and my baby brother."

He continued, bowing his head slightly, as if in mourning, but the only think I could think of was how the baby had screamed. How Fat Walda had pleaded him for mercy. How he had smiled afterwards…

"I will not stay here and tolerate the lies spewing from your mouth you murderous little bastard."

She spat at him and mounted her mare in a swift move that spoke of years of experience on the saddle. She signaled at her men to retreat and suddenly all hell broke loose. Lord Ramsay shouted orders at the men on the ramparts above us to attack. One of Lady Dustin's men shouted at the rest to protect their lady, but his words turned into a gurgle, as an arrowhead sprouted from where his Adam's apple was a moment ago. Screams followed. Screams of men and horses alike, drowning the delicate hiss dozens of arrows made as they flew in the sky above us.

In the span of a few heartbeats, all of the men from Barrowton were dead or dying on the snow-covered earth, painting it red in their blood.

 _It's her fault. She should have been more respectful. Now Lord Ramsay will rightly punish her. She deserves it. She does._

I thought as I watched the widow's eyes fill with terror and disbelief. She was still ahorse, amongst all the carnage, but she had nowhere to go. Her mare's thigh had been pierced by a crossbow bolt, but even if it hadn't, she was surrounded. The urge to flee was written all over her face. Flee to the safety of her army waiting just outside the walls of Winterfell, so close and yet so far.

"Take Lady Dustin to the kennels. I cannot abide the presence of traitors."

The Bastard of Bolton ordered his men. The woman's eyes widened at his command only to widen even more, the moment Damon's whip coiled around her throat like a thick black snake, digging into her previously unmarred skin. With a swift move of his hand, she found herself sprawled on the yard. Her hands clawed desperately at her throat, trying in vain to loosen the hold of the whip and get some much needed air in her lungs.

Her face had gone purple like a plum and her eyes looked like they were ready to pop off their sockets, but still Damon wouldn't let go, laughing alongside Skinner at her suffering. Cregan Karstark wasn't laughing. He was too well-bred to show it so brazenly, but the perverse pleasure in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Reek, go prepare Lady Dustin's accommodations. She'll be staying with us for quite a while."

Lord Ramsay ordered me with a mocking, malicious smile.

"Right away my lord."

I told him with a bow and walked to the kennels without a second glance towards the woman still writhing in the snow.

ͽͼ

Snow had stopped falling from the sky for some days now and the yard of Winterfell did no longer resemble the Land of Always Winter. As a matter of fact, all the snow had been shoveled away, revealing the frozen soil underneath. Servants moved about carrying firewood and dirty linens and pails of water.

A man that was not Ser Rodrick was training some new recruits with blunted steel, yelling at them to keep their shields up. Another man who wasn't Vayon Poole was chastising three maids by the well, shouting orders at them to go change the sheets at the Lord's chambers. By the door of the kitchens there was a cook that wasn't Gage, calling for more eggs for the Lord's omelet.

 _His name is Lane, rhymes with pain._

I thought as I hobbled towards him.

He was about to go back inside to fix breakfast, but he stopped when he saw me come his way, knowing well by now that I had orders for him from Lord Bolton.

"What do you want turncloak?"

Lane the cook asked with a sneer, showing his remaining teeth, crooked and yellow. Mine used to be white and straight, but now they were a ruin, broken and black. Much like my soul.

"Lord Bolton ordered me to take food to the prisoner."

I replied quietly, after swallowing the saliva that had pooled in my mouth. The mouthwatering smells of fried bacon, baked pigeon-pie and fresh bread that were wafting through the door made me dizzy with hunger.

 _When was the last time I ate? I can't even remember…_

I mused as the constant pain in my stomach grew even more, demanding food I had no right to eat.

"Here's your food. Now leave, I have work to do."

He huffed at me as he shoved a tray to my hands and promptly shut the door in my face. I couldn't help but be impressed with myself. I had managed not only to catch the tray, but also spill little to no porridge out, even though dexterity was a thing of the past.

 _It's no good to dwell on the past. My name is Reek now. I remember my name._

I thought and lowered my head towards the ground and my mud-stained boots. They were fine boots, made of lambskin and lined with fur. Lord Ramsay had given them to me the day I escorted his bride to the Godswood to be wed. He had given me more fine clothes that day, but he took them away when the rest of the lords left for their Keeps. He let me keep the boots though for some reason…

 _Maybe he just doesn't want frostbite to claim the rest of my toes before he gets the chance to do it himself with his flaying knife._

I thought with a shudder and kept on walking towards the dungeons, where Lord Stark was waiting for his first meal in many days.

It was dark inside the dungeon, but not cold. No room in Winterfell was ever cold, not even the dungeons, thanks to the water from the hot-springs flowing inside the walls like blood inside a man's veins. I let my eyes adjust to the dim light of the torch that burned on the wall and then moved forwards, listening to the murky porridge slosh in the bowl with my every step. After a few feet I passed another torch, and then another next to the table set for the guards.

 _There are no guards. Why are there no guards? Is this a trap?_

I wondered, as I remembered the last trap Lord Ramsay had set for me and Kyra when we were still at the Dreadfort. I lost a finger and a toe that night and before that, I had to watch as he raped and flayed her in the woods…

There were guards in the dungeons before. Frog-faced Kemp and Gayle Big-Foot. Kemp used to throw embers atop my straws at night while I slept, just so he could watch me try frantically to put it out with clumsy hands and feet and laugh.

 _This trap can't be for me, can it? Lord Ramsay said it was for Jon Snow, not for me. He knows I'm good._

I ranted as the uneasiness inside me grew. Lord Ramsay loved to test my loyalty whenever the opportunity arose. Sometimes I was sure he wanted me to betray him, just so he would have a reason to punish me, but I would never do it. I knew the cost now and I was not willing to pay it.

From then on the dungeon was shrouded in darkness and silence, so I left the tray on the table and removed the torch from its holder on the wall to find the boy's cell at the very end of the corridor. This was the very first time I ventured this far inside the dungeon since I learned my name. This would be the first time I would see the boy after his arrival, many days ago…

Shadows danced menacingly on the walls with my every step, like terrible black ghosts and, in my mind, they were Lady Catelyn's, they were Lord Stark's, they were−

"Robb."

I whispered the moment my eyes fell on the figure slumped against the wall of the dark cell, taking a step back in fright. He turned to me then, piercing me with eyes as blue as the waters of the Trident in the late summer. Familiar eyes on a familiar face… the face of the boy that had welcomed me as a brother a lifetime ago. The face of the boy that had made Winterfell resemble home.

 _This isn't him._

I told myself, battling against the urge to beg for forgiveness from the boy who was not the brother I had loved. The brother I had betrayed…

"Theon, please…"

The boy whispered in desperation. It felt like a punch in the gut. That voice, those words… How many times had I heard them from _his_ lips? It must have been thousands of times. The man I used to be had always answered them with cocky grins and arrogant smiles. Now the only answer I gave him was a pathetic whimper.

 _It's not him. It's not him. It's not him._

I kept on repeating inside my head, closing my eyes tight, to wipe the image of him from my irises.

 _This is just a trick of the light. His name is Rickon, rhymes with weapon._

I insisted and let myself breathe through my nose. From the stench, I realized the boy had been left to lie in his own filth, just as I had been in the Dreadfort, when I still had all my fingers and toes. The smell woke me from my stupor. It helped me remember what awaited me, should I disobey Lord Ramsay's orders, so I put the torch in its place on the wall with clumsy fingers and went back to fetch the food.

I pushed it inside the cell with my maimed right hand, but before I had the chance to retract it, the boy grasped it, with surprising strength considering his weakened state.

"I know it's you Theon."

He told me in a hushed whisper, his bright blue eyes only inches away from mine. It hurt to look at him, but I couldn't move away. Not when he had a vice grip on my wrist. I was rooted in place, trembling like a leaf during a storm.

"I dreamt of you sometimes when I wasn't dreaming of being Shaggy. I loved the wolf dreams, but not the ones with you. There were too scary…"

 _They say he turns into a wolf at night._

That's what the Lannisters used to say, accusing the Young Wolf of being more beast than man.

"I saw what he did to you. The bad man, the one who killed Maester Luwin. I'm so sorry Theon."

Said Robb−

 _No! His name is Rickon. Robb is dead._

I corrected myself vehemently as I stared into the tearful eyes of the child that was not Robb. He loosened his hold on my now trembling hand and blinked, letting the tears fall. One fell on the filthy floor, the other on my hand, burning me like wildfire. I yanked it away from him and scrambled to my feet, no longer able to stay here, with Robb's ghost, a moment longer. He fumbled to catch me again, but I was already too far away.

"Please Theon! Help me!"

"I'm not Theon. My name is Reek."

"Theon no−"

"You are Lord Ramsay's prisoner now. If you're good, he won't hurt you."

I told him, as I rubbed my hand where his tear had fallen, trying to convince myself of that fact, as much as him.

"Don't leave me here Theon! Please! Help me Theon! Please! Please!"

The boy screamed, as my feet took me farther away from him and his haunting blue eyes.

 _Maybe Lord Ramsay will take them from him and I won't have to look at them anymore._

I thought the moment I emerged at the top of the inner wall, with no recollection of how I got there. The thought was nauseating enough to make me loose the contents of my stomach. It was empty though and soon there was no more bile left for me to throw up. I stood at the edge, dry-heaving, grasping at the icy crenel for dear life.

The acrid taste lingered in my mouth, much like the thought that triggered it. I realized my missing toes throbbed painfully, in time with the rapid beats of my heart. It was the same for my fingers.

I knew why I had sought out the battlements. I had reached my final breaking point. This was too much. I could no longer take it. I wanted out.

I looked at the grey sky above and at the snowy fell that stretched for miles ahead. Then I turned my eyes to the frozen moat under me surrounded by Winterfell's walls.

 _There is no sea here. The drowned God will never find me to take me to his watery halls. Maybe it's for the better. Maybe I'll get to be with Robb instead._

I thought to myself and leaned further towards the abyss.

 _What will I tell Robb when we meet on the other side?_

I wondered.

 _You think you'll get to be with him? He was a good man, kind and honorable._

 _Theon Greyjoy was a murderer and a traitor and now you Reek are a wretched worm. The only thing that awaits you is that special place in hell the gods have reserved for kinslayers._

I took a step back and then another, until my back was against the cold stone wall. The ice on it started to melt, soaking my cloak and then my tunic in its moisture. I no longer wanted to jump. I was too afraid of what awaited me at the other side to actually do it.

I had killed Mikken the blacksmith with the sword he had forged for me. I had betrayed the only brother I ever knew, abandoning him in his hour of greatest need. I had killed the miller's wife and her two sons… my two sons.

 _A kinslayer, a traitor and now a craven as well._

 _A death by Jon Snow's sword will be a much too honorable death for the likes of me…_


	14. Chapter 14

**SANSA**

I slid down the rough bark of sentinel a few feet away from everyone, resting my head on my hands. I squeezed my eyes tight and pressed my temples with my knuckles in a vain attempt to stop the endless, painful throbbing. A snowflake landed on my nose, its icy kiss startling me enough to open my eyes once more. I saw Ghost making his way towards me, his red, intelligent eyes watching me intently. When he reached me, he nudged my arm with his snout softly and with a sigh I let him rest his head on my lap and curl his body next to mine.

 _My poor boy… no wonder you're tired._

Today had proven to be a… hectic day, for lack of better word. It wasn't even close to midmorning, but I was already dead on my feet.

 _I just need to close my eyes for a moment._

I thought to myself, but I couldn't rest just yet. I needed to see Jon. I had to make sure he was alive and well. Only then I would sleep and not a moment before.

Yesterday we had made camp at the foot of the mountain a few hours after sundown. Jon and I had eaten together in my tent and then we had shared stories and laughed until our bellies ached. Right then, I thought that maybe I would have a good night's sleep for once... how wrong I was…

I was still lying awake on my furs when the hour of the ghosts came, feeling impossibly cold without Ghost by my side.

 _I shouldn't have sent him away._

I remember thinking. That was when Jon started shouting at the top of his lungs to saddle the horses and leave immediately. The moment we took a glimpse towards the east, we saw the source of his urgency. The earth itself seemed to be ablaze, where hundreds of campfires had been flickering some hours ago. The flames had almost turned the night into day in their intensity, illuminating the black sky in a sinister orange glow. The horses had been saddled and our possessions packed in record time and we were all galloping towards the Stark camp, which had seemingly gone in flames overnight.

We arrived at the encampment a little before dawn, encountering complete chaos. The whole forest had been lit like a torch, the flames spreading to the nearby tents. Despite our distance from the flames, the heat was almost unbearable and the thick black smoke that blew towards us was made me cough so much, my eyes watered. One of our men blew his horn loud and clear amidst the tumult, heralding our arrival. Jon started shouting orders left and right, while I sat on my horse completely frozen, watching hell unfurl before my eyes. Everywhere I looked there was carnage. The crackling of the flames was deafening. Steel was ringing on steel all around, paired with the sound of men screaming and grunting and cursing…

I was woken from my daze by Jon. He was shaking my shoulder, almost violently, to get my attention.

"Sansa! You have to run! Go with Morgan. He'll protect you!"

He had shouted right in my ear, making it ring like a bell. I nodded nonetheless, unable to utter a single world.

"I'll come for you when it's over, but promise me you'll keep Ghost close. Promise me!"

He demanded, with eyes dark and intense as storm clouds. Promising him, caused a relieved smile to break through his grim expression for a moment. Then it was gone and so was he.

Watching Jon charge towards the inferno had been gut-wrenching.

 _Was this how mother felt when she watched father ride off to war? When she watched Robb?_

I had wondered, feeling sick with dread. I had no time to ponder on that feeling any further though, because the very next moment Morgan Liddle was leading me away, along with Ghost and a party of twenty northmen under his direct command.

We broke into a fast gallop towards the bank of the river, leaving behind the flames and the battle. I searched for the bridge that had always stood there, but the only thing I saw were pieces of charred wood drifting in the river, whose icy surface had turned to water once again, due to the immense heat.

 _They have burned the bridge… but who were 'they'?_

 _What if it's Ramsay? What if he changed his plans? Oh Gods… did we just fall into his trap?_

If it was him, all our carefully drawn strategies would fall to pieces. But I'd still have my two hidden daggers pointed at Ramsay's back. One could never be too careful when dealing with him.

After all, Ramsay would never play by the rules. I had seen it coming, hence the shameless manipulation of the clansmen… hence the letter to Littlefinger. That one would be my last resort though. And after all, Littlefinger would only show up at the last minute. Or, better yet for him, after the last minute; when Jon would be a flayed corpse on the ramparts and I, a helpless little girl once more.

An image of Jon chained in Winterfell's dungeons, came unbidden into my mind, making me want to retch. Ramsay would make me watch. I was sure of it. He had a talent of sniffing out the thing that would hurt a person most. And now… now my heart would rip in two if I had to watch Jon suffer.

 _He_ would find everything out. Even… even that _thing_. He would see right through me and Jon would have to pay the price.

I found myself trotting amidst the thick foliage of the forest with no recollection of how I got there. We must have crossed the river somewhere upstream, where the flames had not yet melted the ice. I could no longer hear the sounds of battle, only the chirping of the birds and the trotting of the horses. The hunting trail we had taken led us to the bottom of a ravine full of overgrown sentinels and ironwoods covered in snow. I was just about to comment that it was the perfect place for an ambush when a soft hiss came from above, followed by the panicked whinny of a horse. The rest of the horses panicked as well and two more arrows flew towards us before the men managed to rein them in. A heartbeat later all of us had dismounted and the men had taken a defensive stance, holding their shields high above our heads. I was in the middle of their formation feeling as if I was going to be crushed by them. They were too many men, too close to me. I had to get out…

"Yield! You are outnumbered!"

Morgan Liddle yelled at somebody above the sound of steel clashing on steel. Then I heard something shatter, something that sounded metallic, but what could possibly shatter metal? An arrow hissed above my head the moment I tried to move away from the men, burying itself on the bark of a tree behind me with a thump. My heart almost jumped out of my chest in fright. The urge to flee and hide became overwhelming. But I was trapped; helpless.

"Never!"

A woman replied with a grunt. I knew that voice. I had heard it before…

"We'll never yield to the bastard of Bolton's lapdogs!"

A little girl piped in hatefully, as one more arrow fled towards us.

Then it all clicked.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF HOUSE STARK!"

I shouted with the most commanding voice I could muster in those circumstances. It was thankfully enough to stop them.

Their surprise had lasted long enough for me to sort out the misunderstanding. Unfortunately Morgan Liddle had been too slow to stop and he had hit Brienne of Tarth's helmet with his axe rendering her unconscious. The little girl, who had been armed with a bow, identified herself as Lyanna Mormont, Lady of Bear Island. After the brief introductions, she forwent the mandatory courtesies altogether and opted to debrief us on the _situation_ instead. According to her, the Umbers had set their own forest aflame in the middle of the night and used the fire as a distraction to attack them.

 _Thank the gods! It's not Ramsay. It was never Ramsay. He's not here. I'm safe._

I remember thinking, fighting the urge to break down and cry in sweet relief. I couldn't do that though. I couldn't let my mask slip in front of all those strangers.

The girl then started praising Lady Brienne for her valor and fierceness. She said the lady knight had rescued her from their shared tent, along with Alys Karstark, killing Umbers left and right, just to bring them to safety.

At the mention of the name Karstark, I felt something cold and ugly twist in my stomach. I saw her then, standing next to a sentinel, almost completely hidden in the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a messy braid and her arms were wrapped around her stomach, as if she wanted to protect herself. When our eyes met, they fell to her sides and she started to walk towards me, curtsying impeccably.

I grit my teeth, as that unpleasant feeling returned in my gut, drawing words to my tongue that were not fit to pass a lady's lips. After that, things deteriorated fast. I accused Alys Karstark of treason, only for Lyanna Mormont to imply that I was a turncloak instead, for marrying into the Lannisters and the Boltons.

"I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark."

I declared with a steady and unwavering voice despite her obvious scrutiny. She wasn't convinced. It was quite obvious by her glare, black and sharp as dragonglass.

 _"_ _If you say so…"_

Her expression seemed to say. I had wanted to strike her at that very moment and wipe that arrogant, self-righteous grin off her face. She had no right to look at me like that. I was Sansa Stark. The Lady of Winterfell. The daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. And she was just a girl, green as grass.

"I've never turned my cloak Lady Mormont, which is something no Karstark can say. Her father was a −"

 _Traitor._

I finished in my mind. My hand had almost reached my chest when I put it back down. The urge to cover my mouth and contain the word inside was overwhelming; that word, which left the taste of rot on my tongue.

"I know what my father was Lady Stark. He was a traitor, just like uncle Cregan and great-uncle Arnolf. I… I cannot deny that, at first, I condoned it… I was angry you see… King Robb had taken my father's head and I hated him and all the Starks for it, but later, when the Boltons came, things… changed."

She said, wringing her fingers nervously.

"My uncles started treating me strangely… It started with small, inconsequential things, but there came a day when I could no longer put up with their actions. When I confronted them about it all, they put me under lock and key, turning me into a prisoner inside my own home. They left me alone there for a turn of a moon, but then, the night before he was to leave for Winterfell, my uncle Cregan… he… he came into my chambers and…he…he tried to…"

She trailed off. Her cheeks had flamed red and her eyes were fixed on her shoes. I felt as if someone had poured a pail of ice-water on my head. I knew that look. After all, it had been on my own face too many times to count.

 _She could have been manipulating me, trying to gain my trust. The best way to do that is through empathy and she surely knows enough about me to spin a similar tale. I must not let my guard down, no matter how genuine and honest her words appear to be._

I thought to myself, biting my lip hard, as I watched her converse with Lyanna Mormont amidst the snowfall, searching her face for any sign of treachery and coming back empty-handed.

My mind travelled to Jon once again. I couldn't help but worry about him. Hours had passed since we parted. And a lot could go awry in the span of those hours. Jon could be…

 _No. Don't go there. He will come for me. I know he will. He said so himself._

I told myself, not really believing it. For all I knew the unthinkable could have already happened. If that was so, I would−

"Lady Stark, the warrior woman just came to and she requested to have a word with you."

Morgan Liddle informed me in a low, conspiratorial voice. I let out a deep sigh and bid him to bring her to me. I shoved Ghost off my thighs, eliciting a quiet whine from him. I scratched his head lovingly, in apology and he nuzzled and licked my palm in return.

"Lady Stark"

Brienne of Tarth said in greeting, falling on one knee before me, with her head bowed towards the forest floor. Blood was matting her flaxen hair, and soot had covered her previously shiny armor. Morgan Liddle came to stand to my right, half a step behind me. His closeness made me feel jittery, but Ghost was right at my feet…

 _I'm safe. He won't hurt me. He can't hurt me._

"Lady Brienne… Please rise, there is no need for you to kneel before me."

I told her, but she made no move to comply with my request.

"My Lady, I shall not rise until you accept my offer to become your sworn shield."

The large woman said with unwavering determination, catching me unawares. A guffaw escaped Morgan Liddle. It soon became apparent I did not find her request remotely funny and that was enough to shut him up.

"Lady Brienne, you were a prisoner mere hours ago. You now have your freedom back. Surely you do not wish to relinquish it so soon."

"I am already bound by oath to your mother, to keep you safe my lady. Only death can free me from my vow now."

She replied softly, finally shifting enough for our eyes to meet. Blue clashed with blue. She had large luminous eyes; honest eyes. I bit my lip and she lowered her gaze once again. My head pounded dully, in time with my heart, resembling the beat of a funeral march.

 _What should I do?_

I wondered, as I watched the snowflakes dance in the air.

"My sword is yours, my lady."

She said, drawing her sword from its scabbard. My stomach sank the moment I laid my eyes on it. I had seen this sword before. In the hands of Joffrey.

"I want nothing to do with that sword."

I told her icily, tightening my fists hard enough for my nails to dig crescent moons on my palms. An image of Joffrey wielding the blade flashed before my eyes. Her eyes locked with mine once again, this time full of confusion.

"It's called Oathkeeper, my lady, and−"

"I don't care what you call it now. Joffrey had named it Widow's Wail. Different name, same sword."

"No my lady! This is a different sword. Tywin Lannister had two twin swords made. One for his son and one for his grandson… But it was a foul thing he did. The honorable thing would have been to return your father's sword to Winterfell where it belonged."

I could not stifle the gasp that escaped my lips at her words.

 _No! No! No! It can't be! They couldn't possibly…_

It was all wrong. This couldn't have been made of Ice.

 _What have they done to it?_

I thought in horror, as the pounding inside my head intensified. They had defiled it. Tarnished it. Ice's ripples had been grey as storm-clouds and dark as smoke, but now… now these ripples were red as blood and black as midnight.

And I had seen them like that before… Ice had looked exactly like that with the blood of father on it. I watched my hand move, as if in a dream, to touch the bloody blade.

Familiar ghost fingers tightened around my throat, heralding the onset of another incident, as the funeral march in my head reached a crescendo.

 _I can't! Not here! Not now! Make it stop!_

I thought, but I only managed to make things worse. I felt sick. I felt feint. I needed air. I needed… _Jon_. Only he knew how to make it stop. Only he knew how to make me breathe again. But he wasn't here. He had left me, like everyone else.

 _What if I never see him again? What if he's dead?_

The sharp stinging pain on my hand was what broke the thick layer of panic that I had been trapped under. I gasped the moment I laid my eyes on it. There was a surprisingly deep gash on the pads of my fingers, where the blade had kissed them and blood was flowing out like a torrent, coating my hand in a red, silken glove. I could hear shouting, above the dull drumming in my head. Looking up, I realized Morgan Liddle had drawn his axe, while lady Brienne was still kneeling before me. Her hands were now empty and they were flailing towards me.

She looked completely horrified by what happened and she kept on swearing she didn't mean to, that she was sorry, that he had to let her help me… She was almost in the verge of tears, while Morgan Liddle warned her to keep her hands to herself and stand down. The moment she touched my injured hand with hers, he took a step forward and raised his axe to strike her with the ironwood handle.

"That's enough Ser!"

I reprimanded him, sounding breathless instead of harsh, as I had intended. For a moment, I thought he would turn around and strike me instead, but then Ghost let out a vicious snarl in warning and that was all it took for the large man to stop.

"Ghost down."

I ordered him when he snapped his jowls at Morgan Liddle threateningly.

"Leave us Ser."

"My Lady, your brother−"

"That was not a request. It was an order."

I told him, as I calmly wrapped a white cotton handkerchief around my fingers. By the time Morgan Liddle reached the rest of his men, it had stained a deep red color, while the grey direwolf embroidered on its corner had turned black.

Lady Brienne made to rise, but I stopped her with a soft touch on her mailed shoulder.

"My lady… you're bleeding. You need to be treated immediately."

She mumbled, looking at me with wide, blue eyes that spoke of concern.

"I thought you wouldn't rise until I accepted you as my sworn shield. Did you have a change of heart lady Brienne?"

"No my lady! It would be an honor to serve you."

"Then you shall."

I replied, confident I had not made a mistake. I had seen her expression a few moments ago. Even a talented mummer would have been hard pressed to feign concern so convincingly while their life was forfeit. And she was no mummer.

"Truly? Mother above…"

She whispered in disbelief. Then I saw her shake her head as if to clear it and her bright blue eyes clashed with mine once again.

"My lady I am yours. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise Lady Brienne."

She smiled at me then and, despite her homely features, at this moment, she looked beautiful.

* * *

At least one more hour passed until the man Morgan Liddle had ordered to climb atop a soldier pine spotted a lone rider in black coming south, bearing no banner whatsoever. The men started to whisper about it. Some believed him to be a craven, running from the fight. Others believed it was a deserter from the Night's Watch. Middle Liddle feared the Umbers had won and found out somehow that we had gone into hiding. As for me… I was desperately trying to silence the part of me that hoped…

 _"_ _I'll come for you when it's over."_

He had told me. It was a promise, even though he hadn't used that exact word. I had not believed him anyway. Promises like that were impossible to keep and everyone seemed to break them all the time.

 _Someone could have already killed him. He could be dying right at this very moment and I wouldn't even know it. I wouldn't feel a thing._

I thought with a shudder. Ghost perked up from his spot atop my thighs and started to scan the woods around us with intense, burning eyes. He looked back at me for a short moment and then leapt away, disappearing amidst the vegetation.

"I lost him! I think he entered the forest!"

The man on the treetop informed us. My eyes connected with those of Middle Liddle, who was now standing, and armed. Brienne, to my left, stood up as well, putting on her helmet with a wince and unsheathing Oathkeeper. The rest of the men followed their example.

Ages seemed to pass while we waited, keeping our eyes and ears wide open. Yet they materialized seemingly out of thin air. Ghost was the first one to come through the ferns, white as fresh snow, followed by the man in black, silent as death. He was covered in soot from head to heel and his armor was glistening with frozen blood and mud and gods knew what else, but his eyes were a striking grey; the color of storm clouds. I would recognize those eyes anywhere.

 _He came back for me._

Was all I could think, as I ran to him.

* * *

We crossed the frozen river without incident under the falling snow, and entered what had previously been our camp. Men, covered in soot and blood, were everywhere. The injured were being taken care of by the unscathed and the carrion crows were attending to the corpses. The soil had turned to bloody mud during the battle and now that the forest fire had been extinguished by the heavy snowfall, it was slowly freezing over, making every step a challenge. And that smell…

The old Sansa would have covered her nose with a scented handkerchief to block the stench of burned flesh and blood and excrement, but that girl died when the long summer ended. She was no more.

Lyanna Mormont and Alys Karstark were both whisked away on the spot, the first by a dark-haired burly man and the second by an utterly relieved young man in copper armor who spun her around and kissed her in the most improper way.

 _They seem… happy together. Like mother and father used to be before we went south._

I thought to myself as I looked away, afraid that if I stared at them too much, I would somehow spoil their happiness.

Jon proceeded to disband Morgan Liddle's party, sending them to help burn the corpses and I realized even Ghost had disappeared somewhere. I was left only with Brienne of Tarth, who was looking around with a heartbroken look and an awfully sullen Jon.

"Lady Sansa, I… could I be granted leave to search for Podrick?"

She asked me and I nodded at her absentmindedly, without even looking her way, because Jon was already walking away and I couldn't let him out of my sight just yet. I was not yet certain that he was truly alive.

 _Maybe, if I look away, he will vanish like a mirage._

I thought to myself, as I struggled to keep up with him. I kept on slipping and losing my balance on the slippery ground though, soiling my dress with all manner of filth in the process.

 _I won't ridicule myself by falling in front of all those people._

I thought, glaring at Jon's back, as I slowed my step. The chivalrous thing to do would have been to link his arm with mine and help me, but chivalry was obviously the last thing on his mind at the moment. When, at last, he realized I had fallen behind, he walked back to me, wearing an apologetic expression on his face, under all those layers of filth. I took his offered hand though, not caring one bit about the stains that would surely form on my gown wherever I touched him.

He took us to a large green tent, flying the Stark and Mormont banners. A fire was burning inside and several people were there, making the space feel smaller than it was. Out of all of them, I only knew Lyanna Mormont at the head of the table and Black Donnel Flint two seats to her left. I recognized the young husband of Alys Karstark amongst the men as well, but the rest of them were complete strangers. Especially the exotic woman in red with the cryptic smile.

"Jon!"

One of the men exclaimed happily the moment he laid eyes on us.

"Took your sweet time to come crow! Har! Where have you been? Lost under your new wife's skirts?"

Another, taller one asked him with a laugh, nodding towards me. I felt the blood drain from my face as everyone's eyes turned to us. Jon yanked his arm away from mine almost violently, as his face burned red with… embarrassment? Rage?

"I don't blame you though! That one's even prettier than you! And kissed by fire as well. Just your type o' girl! No wonder−"

"Tormund, close your bloody mouth."

Jon hissed at him, with steel grey eyes that promised violence. The man whose name was Tormund seemed taken aback, while the rest inside the tent still wore identical looks of shock. All except from Alys' wildling husband, who was wearing a lopsided grin.

"And show some respect! I will not tolerate such crass comments to be directed towards my sister. Am I clear?"

"Your sister? You stole a girl from your village crow? Har! And here I thought Ygritte'd made a proper wildling o' you."

The large wildling by the name Tormund replied in jest.

 _Who is Ygritte?_

I had wanted to ask. The question was burning a hole on my tongue, but I did not voice it. Now was hardly the time. And the stealing… it had something to do with marriage, if I remembered correctly.

"I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding Ser Tormund. Aside from the fact that I'm already wed to… _another_ , Jon and I are half-siblings. We share a father."

I explained as plainly as I could. He appeared shocked for a moment and then he shook his head, as if to say that he could not make sense of anything anymore, looking like a disappointed father.

 _Oh but how you wish you weren't his sister… am I right Sansa?_

 _Or maybe you don't! Maybe the fact that he's your brother is what made you want a kiss from him last night at the tent! Is that it wife?_

 _You shouldn't keep secrets from your husband you know… Especially those wicked ones. If you do, I'll have to punish you, and you know how it pains my heart to do so…_

Ramsay whispered excitedly in my ear, smiling all the while. I could almost feel his breath on my skin and that made all hairs in my body rise in revulsion. A chair creaked and the dark-haired man cleared his throat in nervousness.

"Well… Um… Jon! Won't you introduce us to your lovely sister?"

The same man asked him, while rubbing the middle of his chest, breaking the tension in the room. Jon tore his eyes away from the large wildling with the ginger hair and proceeded with the introductions with a clipped and forced tone. I repeated the names in my head as curtsies were being exchanged, singling out Lord Davos Seaworth and Melisandre of Asshai. I owed them a thanks.

 _No, I owe them more than that… my life, my freedom, my sanity and gods know what else._

And they probably didn't even know it. A debt was owed though and I would have to pay it. I hadn't been a Lannister for long, but I'd learned this much at least.

We all took seats at the table. All it is, except from Lady Melisandre, who left in a flurry of scarlet silks shortly after our arrival. On her way out she passed right beside Jon, giving him an affectionate caress on his bicep and a salacious smile.

That display made me feel as if I had just swallowed something rotten, but I had no right to feel like that. Jon was a grown man and grown men have certain needs…

"What is our situation?"

Jon asked them the moment the Red Woman made her exit, sounding as calm as still water. As if her touch had not affected him in the least…

"We lost the most people outta all o' you kneelers combined. Our camp was the one closest to the forest and we took the bulk o' the damage."

Tormund Giantsbane retorted grimly. Sigorn Thenn nodded in agreement, not making a sound.

"How many men did you lose?"

Jon inquired, looking more somber than ever.

"To hell if I know… Three hundred? Four? You'll have to count 'em yourself crow. Tormund Thunderfist doesn't have enough fingers for such a thing."

Jon nodded at him and turned to the others. Lyanna Mormont had lost seventeen of her men, Larence Snow eighty nine and Black Donnel Flint forty three, counting in Morgan Liddle's men as well. Worst case scenario, we had lost five hundred fifty men to the fire and the battle.

"The Umbers weren't more than three hundred, and we took care of them easily enough when we realized we were under attack, but it took us too long to register there was a threat other than the fire."

Larence Snow piped in when he saw the expression in Jon's face, trying to explain how it got to this.

"It didn't help that all o' you kneelers wear the same armor! How were we supposed to tell friend from foe?"

"Aye, you muttonhead! We wear the same armor, because we used to be on the same side! Or have you forgotten that?"

Black Donnel Flint remarked in mockery of the large wildling, drawing a small smile from Larence Snow. Tormund Giantsbane's face became red in anger at the insult and the cords on his neck bulged out. He was more than ready for a fight.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Jon shouted in rage, banging his hand on the table with enough force to make the cups on it to topple over and spill their contents. I flinched away from him, feeling my hands begin to tremble under the table. This short-tempered Jon was a new Jon. A dangerous Jon.

A warm, callused hand landed on mine, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. Before I had the chance to react, it was gone. I could still feel the tingling though on the place where he had touched me.

There was complete silence in the tent after Jon's outburst. All eyes were on him.

"Did we capture anyone of importance?"

He asked them in his regular, measured tone, sounding composed once again.

"Aye. We have Mors Umber. He may be in a bad way, but he'll live."

Larence Snow replied solemnly.

"We could use him to get into the castle. He's the castellan, is he not?"

Lord Seaworth's suggestion was the beginning of a new argument, where almost nobody agreed with anyone. Everyone wanted to take Last Hearth, but each of them wanted to approach the matter differently. Larence Snow along with Black Donnel Flint wanted to sack it and bring the traitors to justice. The wildlings wanted to pillage it and raze it to the ground. Lyanna Mormont and Davos Seaworth were adamant that we take whatever provisions we needed and be on our way, so justice could be served after our victory, by the Warden of the North.

 _They fight like fishwives over a bucket of crabs._

"My lords, my ladies… please, be seated. I'm sure we can discuss this rationally and without unnecessary arguments."

I told them sweetly, offering my most charming smile. People usually fell for it; normal people, that is. I had been fool enough to try it with Ramsay on our second evening together. He had backhanded me so hard I saw stars and he told me that if I dared smile like that ever again at him, he would break my pretty white teeth, just like he did Reek's…

"My sister is right. First and foremost we need to speak with Lord Umber and get as much information out of him as we can. We know nothing of the castle's defenses and I'd rather not have any more unpleasant surprises waiting for us. So we'll stand down until further notice."

Jon told them, bringing the argument to an end.

"Let us hope, for my back's sake that the castle is lightly held. Old men like me need featherbeds and blazing hearths, not hard cots I and freezing tents!"

Lord Seaworth told us in jest, smiling towards me and Jon like a kindly uncle would.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to wait a little longer for that my friend. I need you to do something else for me…"

Jon replied solemnly, taking a deep breath to continue. The older man gave him a curt nod, all laughter gone from his eyes.

"I… I need you to ride south at first light. To Winterfell. You read the letter Davos… you know what he threatened to do. And if he indeed has Rickon… I can't just leave my little brother at his mercy. And you… you're the only man I can trust to get him out of there alive."

He continued in a softer tone, almost an apologetic one.

 _Had he planned this behind my back?_

I wondered, observing his profile carefully, trying to fish the information out of his mind.

"Jon I−"

"There will be no need for that Jon Snow."

Lyanna Mormont said haughtily, interrupting Lord Seaworth.

"I've already sent my sisters in Winterfell to take care of that matter."

She informed us in her high-pitched voice. I felt my mouth fall open in shock and disbelief, only for it to clamp shut when an unfamiliar rage seized hold of me.

"Have you gone mad?"

I hissed at her, all pleasantries forgotten. I realized was on my feet now, leaning towards her with my fist pressed on the hard wood. The handkerchief I had tied tightly around my fingers to stop the bleeding stretched tight, reopening the cut.

"You sent your _sisters_ to Ramsay Bolton? Do you even know what he's going to do to them if he catches them? Do you even know what fate awaits them?"

Everyone looked at me as if I was the one who had gone mad. Everyone except Jon. I had rendered them speechless; even the little girl, who, up until now, always had a snarky remark at the tip of her tongue.

"My sisters are warriors! They−"

"Really? You know who else used to be a warrior? Theon Greyjoy! He used to be a man as well, but he is neither now. A worse fate awaits your sisters Lady Mormont. And they'll have you to thank for it."

I spat at her and stormed out.

* * *

"Sansa, may I come in?"

Jon asked curtly from outside my tent, waking me up from my slumber on the chair. At the sound of his voice my heart doubled its pace and something akin to panic seized me at his request to come inside.

"Yes, yes! Come on in."

I told him huskily, as I sprung from my seat. I saw Lady Brienne's silhouette move to the side, making way for Jon's, as I cracked my neck and back. I was careful, but still, the barely closed wounds I had all over pulled tight, threatening to reopen.

I could not believe I had slept for the better part of the day without having a single nightmare, but then again, Ramsay always came in the dark…

Jon walked inside with his back straight and his face set in stone, looking as tense as drawn bow.

"What can I do for you Jon? Are you well?"

I asked him, as I approached him, not bothering to hide my concern. He looked ghastly…

"I'm fine. I won't bother you for long. I just came to…"

His gruff voice trailed off the moment I grazed the dark circles under his right eye with my fingertips. He let out a deep sigh and the façade came tumbling down like a castle made of snow. He looked like a walking corpse. He had managed to clean himself somehow but now that the blood and soot and grime had been washed off, there was nothing there to conceal his weariness. And the way he held himself… it was as if he was standing out of sheer power of will.

I took him by the arm, and guided him towards my cot. He followed me meekly enough and sat on the furs, letting another sigh escape his lips. I observed him for a long moment, noting the shadows under his eyes, his impossibly pale complexion, his bleary eyes, his bent shoulders…

I started undressing him, ignoring Ramsay's sneers in my head. I had already unclasped his mantle and taken off his left boot when he took notice of what I was doing, attempting to stop me, even though he was half-asleep.

"Sansa, why are you kneeling?"

"Hush. Just let me help you."

I told him as I took off his other boot and got up. It was time to unclasp his armor, which proved to be quite a challenge with just one good hand.

"Wha−? What are you doing? Stop fiddling with my armor and just sit down for a moment. I need to tell you about Crowfood and Rickon and−"

"It can wait until tomorrow."

I told him with finality, as I let his armor fall on the ground. When that was gone, the rest came off easily enough, despite Jon's ardent protests and lack of cooperation. I left him in his tunic and breeches and made him lie down, piling the furs over him. He was asleep before I could blink, clutching the furs tight to his chest, just like Arya used to, after one of Old Nan's scary bedside stories.

I stood over him and watched him for a while, worrying my lip between my teeth. Small tremors racked his body from the cold and I entertained the thought of climbing on the cot next to him to keep him warm.

 _Do sisters do such things for their older brothers?_

I wondered, trying to remember doing something like that for Robb. Nothing of the sort came to mind, but even if it had, it wouldn't really matter. It wouldn't change the fact that what I felt towards Jon did not resemble in the slightest what I used to feel for Robb or Bran or Rickon.

But then again, it should come as no surprise that I had become like that, after everything that happened. Joffrey, Cercei, Littlefinger, Ramsay… it felt as if each of them had left a taint on me; one that would not come off, no matter how hard I scrubbed. They were part of me now; an ugly, twisted part that shouldn't be there.

 _But how could my feelings for Jon be linked with all that ugliness? How can caring for someone like that be wrong?_

I wondered as I started toying with his hair, separating his curls gently and then twisting them around my fingers, turning them into perfect little ringlets. I realized I was humming that melody that had been lodged in my mind since I woke up. I had never heard it before in my life, but it reminded me of Jon somehow and for the first time in years I wished I had my harp with me, to play those beautiful, sad notes before I could forget them.

I closed my eyes and imagined strumming the chords with my fingertips, making the song come to life, while Jon was seated opposite of me, listening. In my mind he was smiling at me, despite the sorrowful notes that filled the room. It was that sweet smile that he only reserved for me. The one that made my heart stop and then beat twice as fast.

The last note quivered in the room in time with the string's vibrations, sounding mournful and unfulfilling.

 _This is not supposed to be the ending, is it? It's all wrong._

 _"_ _No, Sansa Stark. That was merely the conclusion of the first part of the song."_

Jon replied from across from me, but when I opened my eyes, there was another man there. One that didn't look like Jon at all… or did he?

 _"_ _How does the rest of it go then?"_

I asked the strange man who had stolen Jon's voice.

 _"_ _I regret to say that I do not know. It's in your hands now to complete Sansa Stark. Try to make the ending a happy one…"_

He replied cryptically with Jon's sad smile on his lips, before turning into ashes and smoke.


	15. Chapter 15

**JON**

Her scent was everywhere around me, heady and intoxicating.

 _I wish I could bottle it up somehow and keep it with me forever._

I thought as I took a deep breath, holding it in, as if I could somehow keep a part of her inside me this way. When I felt her soft palm cup my cheek, all the air left my lungs at once and my heart skipped a beat. I knew it was Sansa, even though I haven't opened my eyes yet. I was too afraid, if I did, she would stop touching me and that would be unbearable.

Her thumb started drawing small circles on my cheek, brushing against my lashes with every upward stroke and something inside my chest clenched almost painfully at that small affectionate gesture of hers. Her hair brushed my other cheek, softer than any silk I've ever touched and then her warm breath hit my face. Time seemed to slow down as her nose slid against mine, until our lips touched, delicately, tentatively. For half a heartbeat, I did nothing, too shocked to react, but the moment I felt her move away, I opened my eyes to the sight of red hair, deep blue eyes and pearly skin, flushing the palest pink.

Sansa sat there, watching me with those innocent blue eyes of hers, biting her lower lip in that maddening way she always did. I couldn't stop myself from leaning slightly towards her, half of me praying she'd move away and the other half begging her not to.

I never expected her to listen to the pleas of that baser part.

She stood still as a statue, holding her breath, as if she was waiting for me to kiss her back, but that couldn't be true, could it? And then her eyes darted to my lips, lingering there for one, two, three heartbeats. Before the third expired, I leaned forwards the rest of the way, capturing her lips in a gentle, slow kiss.

 _Gods help me… I want her so damn much._

I thought in desperation, struggling to convince myself break the forbidden kiss. Her hands though found purchase in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling them gently. I never knew a small tug there could send such a jolt of pleasure straight to my groin and now there was no taking back the low moan that escaped my lips.

 _I had no right to kiss her. I have no right to want her… She'll be disgusted, and rightly so._

I thought, completely mortified at the way my body had betrayed me, stopping the kiss and waiting for her to curse me, slap me; leave me…

"Jon, please…"

Sansa breathed out, her voice husky and needful, causing my hardness to swell further inside my breeches and my breath to catch in my throat. I felt something break inside me by her plea. My shame, my guilt, my resolve, all of them shattered to pieces, because the unimaginable had happened…

 _She wants me to keep on kissing her._

I took her in my arms then and kissed her once more, this time deeply; passionately. Our lips molded together and our tongues entwined, slow at first and then faster, more desperate. When there was no more air left in my lungs, I broke away from her sweet mouth and pressed our foreheads together, breathing in her own ragged, rapid breaths.

"I love you Sansa."

I confessed, unable to hide it any longer, consequences be damned. A soft, loving smile appeared on her face and her eyes… what I saw reflected there could be only described as adoration.

 _Nobody has ever looked at me like that._

Was the only thing I managed to think, before her blue eyes widened in fear and alarm. And then came the blood. Red and hot, flowing like a river, drenching me…

I woke panting and trembling, with the image of the black arrow in her chest, still fresh in my mind.

 _It was a dream. Just a dream… the arrow hadn't been mine… I'd never hurt her._

I told myself as I struggled to regulate my breathing and stop the tremors.

 _Aye… and Ghost attacked me for no reason in the woods this morning._

It was an abhorrent thought, but truthful all the same. Had Ghost not ran to me as he did, I could not know what I would have done when I found Sansa…

Halfway through the battle, some sort of madness washed over me. It felt as if another had taken over my body, killing with reckless abandon, drunk on the blood, rapturous by the fire. And it couldn't have possibly been the battle fever. Father and Ser Rodrick had described how it felt many, many times and what I had experienced was too intense and all-consuming to be simply that.

 _No… it was something else…_

I was not the same man I was before. I could feel it in my bones for many moons now. It was as if the Red Woman had left a human part of me behind when she brought me back from death, only for something dark and twisted to take root in its place.

 _I have to find a way to suppress it… rein it in, lest it takes over completely._

Snow crunched underfoot as somebody approached the tent. A gust of freezing wind blew inside, making me shudder despite the pile of furs on top of me.

I could hear someone moving around the tent with light footsteps and then, the wick of a candle flickered alight, revealing the figure of Sansa; the object of my torment. She cast a quick glance towards me and then started to take down her hair, sighing with pleasure with every braid that came unbound. I watched her, completely transfixed, but when her hands met at the nape of her neck, untying the top knot of her dress' lacings, I realized it was past time she realized I was awake. I shifted on the cot, making enough noise to get her attention and let out a yawn. She froze for a brief moment and then turned to me with an apologetic smile on her face.

"I made too much noise, didn't I? I didn't mean to wake you Jon. I'm really sorry!"

"No, it's all right. I shouldn't have slept in the first place."

I grumbled, my voice still thick and raspy from sleep. I pulled back the sleeping-furs and sat on the cot with a grunt, every muscle in my body protesting.

"I should go anyway. I was gone long enough and I'd better make an appearance before they start clawing at each other's throats."

I said in jest with a half-smile, which turned into a grimace the moment I sprung up. I had forgotten how sore my body would get after a battle.

"Lord Seaworth is already handling that just fine. You should just go back to sleep."

Sansa advised me with a soft reassuring smile on her lips. Her face was drawn though; her eyes hollow and her cheekbones sharper than the night before. The only thing untouched by weariness was her hair, which shined red and copper and gold wherever the fire touched it.

"Did anything happen while I slept?"

I inquired, as I started stretching my back, neck and arms, suppressing any grunts that could come out as the joints popped in the most relieving way.

Silence followed my question. When I reopened my eyes, Sansa's eyes were darting between my navel and the floor with a pink flush rising on her cheeks. I immediately lowered my arms, letting my tunic cover once more the uncovered skin, my own cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"I've asked Podrick to keep a bowl of soup hot for you. I'll go get it while you dress."

Sansa blurted out, so fast I barely understood her. Then she left the tent in a swirl of dark blue velvet, before I had a chance apologize for my improper behavior, or even ask her who that man, Podrick was.

Sansa had not yet returned by the time I finished dressing, so I took a seat on the table, noticing for the first time the linen stripes and the jar of salve sitting on it. I took one end of the cloth between my thumb and forefinger, lifting it a few inches off the table.

 _Her hand has been freshly bound. What use would she−_

My thought process was cut short the moment I remembered exactly why. Somewhere between the battle preparations and the march, I had forgotten the extent of Sansa's injuries. Riding from dawn to dusk should have been excruciating in her state. Yet she never uttered a word of complaint during those long hours.

Quite the opposite… during our march, she had somehow managed to appear graceful and elegant as a shouthron queen and, at the same time, stoic and resilient as a true Stark of Winterfell.

Sansa entered the tent and put a bowl of soup in front of me with a small smile, taking the only other available chair across from me, sitting with her back straight and her ankles crossed. I thanked her for the food, but she never answered; her mind a thousand miles away.

"So, um, did anything happen while I slept?"

I tried again and gulped down my first sip of burning-hot soup, unbothered by its temperature.

"Mors Umber passed away a few hours ago."

She informed me with a small frown, making me choke on the next sip. She hastily poured me a cup of ale and passed it over. I drank deeply and waited a while longer for the violent coughing and sputtering to stop.

"How?"

I croaked, the word barely intelligible.

"The Maester said his heart gave out, due to old age and heavy blood-loss."

I stifled the curse that was at the tip of my tongue. We could have used Mors as leverage, to make Whoresbane withdraw his support to the Boltons. That was the only reason I didn't execute him right after the interrogation. It was also the only reason I kept him alive after we got back from Last Hearth in the afternoon. And now he had died on his own…

"I should have taken his head when I had the chance."

I muttered to myself with an angry frown, stabbing a piece of turnip floating in the murky soup the way I would have stabbed at the old man's eyes had he been before me now. The bewildered look on Sansa's face was all I needed to figure out she had no idea what he had done.

"Mors admitted he was the one who decided to send Rickon to Ramsay."

The words came out clipped and bitter. And they rattled her, judging by the way she opened and closed her mouth without making a sound.

"Rickon… he… he was there all this time? Why did he… why give him away now?"

She stuttered incredulously, looking at me with those wide blue eyes of hers.

 _"Cause of you and your wildling reavers bastard. That's why! You're styling yourself a Stark, I see, but a true Stark would have kept those unwashed whoresons north of the Wall, where they belong. You let them pass instead and infest our lands."_

Mors had sneered at me when I asked him the exact same thing.

 _"Ramsay Bolton though, promised to scourge the North of those pests after he's done with you. He may be a bastard, but at least he's no craven or turncloak. He's no wildling. Had Ned been here, he would have been ashamed of ever fathering you."_

"I don't know Sansa."

I lied, looking down in shame. Everything that was happening was because of my own inadequacy. I had been a failure as a brother, a failure as a Lord Commander and now a failure as a Stark. But then again, I had always been half a brother, half a crow… half a Stark. Thinking on it now from that point of view, my failure had been expected… almost predetermined.

When I looked back up, Sansa was watching me with blue eyes that betrayed no emotion, her face calm and collected, almost to the point of indifference. Her steel mask was on and I loathed myself a little more for making her feel the need to use it.

"Lady Mormont said Mors sent reinforcements to the Boltons this morning through the old road, the one passing through the Dreadfort, using the attack to our camp as a distraction. Do we know how many men he managed to send?"

Sansa asked me in a neutral tone, the kind she would use to address her maidservant. I felt a pang of annoyance at that and almost gave her a torrid reply, but managed to reign in my anger in time. I wasn't angry with her. I was angry with myself.

"I sent half a score of riders after them, but I doubt they will catch up to them. The old steward said eight hundred swords left Last Hearth at dawn for Winterfell, but the numbers seem a little exaggerated. He probably added two hundred or three out of loyalty to his liege lord…"

I replied soberly and gulped down some more of the forgotten soup before me, swallowing quickly to continue.

"The castle was empty though, save for the staff and their children. We found the gates open, the walls unmanned and the storehouses practically empty. They had even emptied the stables and the armory, so I decided we'd just sleep in camp for tonight and march south in the morning."

"What about the Umber children?"

She inquired rigidly, her expression somehow tight, despite remaining unchanged. I hadn't expected her to ask of the children, but it had been foolish of me. She knew what it was like to be a child in a castle ready to be sacked by the enemy…

"They had all gone to hiding; all except Harmond, Greatjon's second son and heir, who chose to stay behind. I interrogated him, but he said he knew nothing and that his uncles acted independently in their treason."

"Well, he's ten and two. I doubt he's capable of plotting treason in this age."

She lashed out, almost mockingly.

"But I also doubt they acted without his consent… the Greatjon is still prisoner in the Twins. It wouldn't have been hard to convince their nephew, who probably misses his father greatly, that this would bring him back…"

Her mask slipped, just a little, letting me see the bitterness underneath.

"Whatever happened, I already gave him pardon."

I mumbled, waiting for her to lash out on me for doing something so politically reckless. Instead, I saw her smile at me a little smile, her eyes relieved.

"I'm glad you did. Treason or not, he's only a child."

Olly's face floated in my vision.

 _"For the Watch."_

I flinched, my hand moving to my chest to press on the scar right above my heart. Now I understood why she asked about the children. She knew about Olly. It was no wonder she thought I'd give the Umbers the same treatment…

"Speaking of children, all the men seem to talk about in the camp is our little brother."

Sansa said, flicking her hair back in obvious displeasure.

 _From one unpleasant topic to the other…_

I thought with a grimace.

I'd already heard talk of Rickon in the camp, but what surprised me the most was that _she_ mingled enough with the men in order to hear what they were talking about. When we were in the mountains she would shut herself in the tent and never venture out.

 _Maybe the lady-knight's presence has already started to affect her positively… having such an intimidating woman as her sworn shield is bound to embolden her; make her feel safer._

I thought and something like relief sprung inside me. She was healing much faster than I would have thought possible. But then again, she was the blood of Winterfell and, despite her fiery hair, she was all ice; all Stark… and the Starks endure.

"Yes I heard."

I told her with a shrug. She glared at me then with blue eyes full of irritation.

"This is serious Jon!"

She errupted, banging her fist on the table. It was her injured hand… it took less than a moment for the red blood to stain her bandages anew, yet she didn't even flinch.

"The little girl spread the news days ago and now everyone speaks of him as if he is Brandon Ice-Eyes returned."

Sansa seethed, ignoring the wound completely. I inched my hand towards hers, intent on helping her, but her icy glare gave me pause.

I couldn't understand why she wanted to talk about _that_ again. Talking of Rickon tonight of all nights was more than I could stand. It's been less than half a day since I found out my plan to rescue him had sunk before it even had a chance to sail… and even less than that since I found out I was the reason he needed saving in the first place.

"They've already started to put their hopes for a better North on him −the "Last Wolf", they call him− and we don't even know whether he's still alive… or sane."

I couldn't help but cringe at the last part, yet she remained stone-faced; emotionless.

"Sansa… try not to despair yet."

I pleaded her, not knowing who, out of us both, needed the advice the most. Sansa's face changed, becoming sterner, more resolute.

"I already told you, he's good as dead. You can hope if it makes you feel better, but it won't change a thing."

It somehow felt as if she just hammered the final nail to our brother's coffin and it was more than I could stand. We'd lost too much already.

 _The gods can't be that cruel._

I thought, shutting my eyes in torment, because I already knew, if there were any gods, they were not merciful or benevolent. I'd seen no god in death… but then again, the Red Woman claimed her Red God was the one to give me my life back.

 _"You'll come seeking for me tonight Jon Snow… and I'll be waiting."_

She had whispered in my ear enticingly just this morning and I'd dismissed her words entirely, as lies and tricks. I had never imagined I'd seek her out for favors. Her magic was powerful, but the cost… it had been too great.

 _One vision… just one. Those had been harmless before._

"Look, I…I'll ask Lady Melisandre to search for our brother in her flames. If anyone can find what his future holds is her."

I resigned, putting my fears aside, along with my resentment. I loathed her; I hated her Red God. But I'd use them all the same… for my family.

"Do as you like. All I ask of you is to remember your promise."

Sansa told me curtly, lacing her fingers together on the table

"I will honor my vow Sansa, of that, have no doubt, but I just…"

I cut my sentence short, not knowing how to say what I wanted to say without angering her. I rubbed my face with my palm, more despondent than ever.

Silence fell between us, thick and full of tension. I bowed my head and started to listlessly stir the now cold soup before me. I could feel her eyes on me, watching me intently, as if she was waiting for me to snap under the pressure. And I would, if we continued speaking about little Rickon.

"What about the wildlings? What's the word in their end of the camp?"

It was a stupid question. Sansa couldn't have possibly set foot there, but it was the first thing that came to mind in order to change the conversation and there was no taking it back now.

"I don't know… the Magnar and his men were speaking in the Old Tongue and I couldn't understand a word they were saying during supper. I only spoke with some of the women and they were mostly gossiping and complaining about their husbands."

She replied with an almost-shrug, relaxing her posture a bit. It took me a moment to process what she said and when I did, I snapped my head up so fast, it almost gave me whiplash.

" _You_ dined with the Thenns?"

I asked her in disbelief, unable to stop gawking at her. I could hardly picture the prim and proper Sansa Stark, with her beautiful blue velvet dress and her slick red hair, eating right next to Sigorn and his men.

"Lady Alys and her husband were kind enough invite me to dine with them by their campfire, so I accepted the invitation. It was the polite thing to do."

Sansa declared haughtily, raising her chin just so, daring me to challenge her. Only Sansa could make dinner with the wildlings sound so hilariously formal.

"I somehow doubt your delicate sensibilities came out of the ordeal intact. Their table manners leave something to be desired, I fear."

I commented solemnly, somehow managing to keep a straight face, despite the imminent urge to laugh hysterically. She glared at me with her arms crossed under her chest, but the next moment she broke into a smile and started giggling, so I gave in to the laughter as well. I didn't even care how my mood managed to take such a sharp turn. All I cared for was the elation… the release I felt as we laughed together. I could get addicted to it…

"Well… they actually ate even more tactlessly than Arya. And they belched… a lot."

Sansa quipped when her giggles quieted down, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated distaste. I couldn't help but laugh some more at her adorable grimace.

 _At least this much has remained the same._

I thought with fondness, as a radiant smile appeared on her face, the one she reserved for me only; the one which made me almost feel warm again.

"In that case, I guess you're lucky you couldn't understand a word they were saying, else you'd have been scarred for life."

I spoke in jest myself, but Sansa did not laugh this time. She quickly averted her eyes and a flush bloomed high on her cheeks, giving away her embarrassment.

"Did they say anything improper? Did they insult you in any way? Whatever it was, tell me and I promise you, you'll never hear it again."

"Um…no, not really… they just… they all still consider me your… w-wife."

Sansa blurted out and I felt color drain from my face, as hers became redder still.

 _It's just cause of the stealing. None of them could possibly know my feelings for her. And none ever will._

"I'll take care of it."

I promised gravely and she smiled at me, a nervous smile.

An awkward silence fell between us after that. Sansa was fiddling with the sleeve of her gown, with her eyes downcast and I was trying, and failing miserably, not to look at her too much. It didn't take long to notice how uncomfortable she felt, so I gulped down the rest of my ale to bid her goodnight, not wanting to overstay my welcome.

"Jon?"

She asked, stopping me in my tracks just as I was reaching for my cloak, resting at the back of the chair. I looked at her questioningly, waiting.

She raised her face tentatively and looked at me once again, with blue eyes full of hesitation. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it almost immediately, pulling her full bottom lip between her teeth instead.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, never mind…"

She told me, averting her eyes. For a moment, all I could think of was taking her in my arms and whispering in her ear that she could tell me anything, that I was there for her…

I'd never do it though. It would push too many boundaries that were never meant to be pushed. And, even if none of that mattered, it was obvious that she needed her space and I had to respect that.

"Well, then if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I retired."

I muttered, somehow managing not to trip over the words. She mumbled something in agreement and I proceeded to fasten my cloak and put on my gloves.

"You should get some sleep as well. Tomorrow we ride south."

I told her, turning around one last time to look at her, unable to resist the urge. She stared right back at me, trapping me inside those deep soulful eyes of hers.

"No Jon. Tomorrow, we ride home."

* * *

With the memory of the talk we had of Rickon still fresh in my mind, I walked towards the Red Woman's tent with unwavering determination.

Even from outside it was obvious she had lit one too many candles. The dark red canvas of her tent glowed from the inside, making her silhouette stand out in its midst; a black shadow on a bright red background.

Before I had the chance to ask for permission to enter, she bid me to come inside and, even though I couldn't see her through the canvas, I could tell by her voice that she was smiling that smile of hers; the one which was enigmatic and, at the same time, almost indecently sultry.

Half a dozen braziers were strewn all over the place, to chase away the chill of the northern winter. Twice as many candles were alight on the table, somehow succeeding in making everything inside the tent appear redder still. It must have been uncomfortably warm to anyone else, yet I somehow managed to still be cold.

 _How can one feel warm again after being touched by death's icy fingers?_

I wondered, as I beheld Lady Melisandre, sitting on her chair, her fingers playing with the flame of a candle. Or was the flame coming from her fingers instead? I couldn't really tell…

"I told you you'd seek me out tonight."

She remarked, piercing me with those unnatural red eyes of hers, as she pulled her hand away from the flickering flame. I ground my teeth in annoyance and took a deep breath, praying for patience and restraint.

"Aye, you did. And since you seem to know so much my Lady, did you also see the reason I came to you? It'd save us both a lot of time if you had the answer I seek."

She smiled at me then and the ruby on her throat throbbed with an internal light, as if it had a life on its own.

"I'm afraid you overestimate my powers my Prince… the Lord reveals to me only what he wills."

The Red Witch told me, raising her hands slightly, as if in helplessness. I felt a muscle tick on my jaw upon hearing her call me her "prince".

 _Bastards cannot become princes… not even bastards who have been raised from the dead._

"I'm no prince, or lord or anything of the sort Priestess."

I hissed at her angrily. She seemed amused by my outburst.

"You are the Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai reborn, R'hllor's chosen one… the Lord has shown me this and more in the flames and the Lord is never wrong."

"Well, to me it looks like your Lord of Light is wrong quite often, considering you were preaching Stannis was all those things not so long ago."

She didn't seem fazed by my snide remark. She just tossed me a sad smile and stared into the fire, the flickering of the flame getting caught in her hair, giving them the color of fresh blood.

 _Nothing like Sansa's. Hers shine in the colors of a summer's sunset, not in that of death and carnage._

"The Lord is infallible… alas I am not. I was the one to misinterpret his signs for so long… and many paid dearly for this mistake of mine."

She said with a sigh, staring right at me once more with something that looked like pity on the lines of her face.

 _She knows… she knows what she did to me._

"Back when I was still in Essos, I asked R'hllor to show me the way to his champion of light and he showed me Stannis. So I naively believed _he_ was the one. Alas, he was just my means to get to _you_ … the Lord's true chosen one, for you were the one he'd me whenever I asked him for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, as Stannis marched to Winterfell. You are the one he gifted with fire and life."

She explained fervently, yet her words of heroes and prophecies made hundreds of years ago meant nothing to me.

She pushed her red hair back, revealing the tops of her breasts, which the low neckline of her red dress left exposed. I averted my eyes from them, and focused on her face instead, where a knowing smirk had appeared.

"It's you; it's always been you. And my place is by your side, guiding you, _serving_ you… in _any_ way you require my Prince."

The Red Priestess purred, getting up from her chair to sashay towards me. I kept my eyes on her face, trying to ignore the way the silk of her dress glided over the skin of her hips and thighs when she moved. I wanted to shout at her face that her god and her prophecies were wrong, that I was not some long-awaited mythical prince… that I was and always will be the bastard of Winterfell…

 _No, I can't do that. I need her and those magic flames of hers._

"The only service I require of you is to find my little brother's fate in your flames Priestess. Only that and nothing else."

I told her through clenched teeth, halting her advance. Her ruby glowed bright for a heartbeat against the pale skin of her neck and her eyebrows shot up in surprise for some reason. Then she lowered her face and bowed so low, her knees almost touched the floor.

"Yes my Prince. I'll do my best."

She conceded, rising gracefully, but keeping her head down. I simply nodded at her and walked out, taking my anger and doubts with me.

* * *

Beronsgrave Village was nothing more than a score of small rundown houses by the west shore of Long Lake. When we stopped there with Uncle Benjen and Tyrion Lannister in the late summer, blue and white wildflowers had been blooming in its small square and the maidens had them braided in their hair as they sang Jenny's Song in a circle.

Now everything was covered in deep snow and the only thing singing was the cages, swinging with the wind. All four of them were full. The leftmost's corpse was little more than a skeleton, but the other three flayed ones were fresh; no more than a day's old. The carrion crows had feasted on them already, but the blood was still bright red; fresh. A lone bird nibbling at the lips of one of them flew away the moment it saw us approaching, making the cage sway even more; its hinges screaming loudly in the silence.

Our party had approached the village from the south, where the trees would provide us cover, but it proved to be an unnecessary precaution. There was not a soul to be seen outside, just like in the previous two villages, but this time the gods had smiled on us it seemed, judging by the flayed corpses in their cages.

 _Bolton's men are here._

I thought with a wolfish smile, tightening my hold on Longclaw as I walked down the icy street, past the swaying corpses. The rest of the men followed. Some of them were wildlings and others were Northmen, but all of them were ruthless killers, thirsty for blood; Bolton blood.

Smoke was coming out of most of the houses' chimneys, but there was not a sound to be heard from them; as if they were inhibited by ghosts. The inn was a different story entirely. The rowdy voices of the patrons could be heard loud and clear through the door, echoing in the otherwise eerie silent streets of the village.

"More ale!"

I heard a man shout and at least six others hailed in agreement. With a quick nod towards Morgan Liddle to my right, I kicked the old ironwood door in with a loud bang. One quick look was all it took to realize the room had certainly seen better days. It was dingy and smoky, smelling of stale vomit and even staler ale.

The moment we banged inside, the old innkeep crouched behind the bar in fright and half a score of Bolton soldiers who had been drinking on the central table abruptly stood. Another one, who had been rutting a bare-chested woman in the corner, stopped and was now trying to pull his breeches back on.

There was no need for introductions.

"It's the bloody Starks!"

A flaxen-haired man with a face full of angry red pimples shouted in alarm, as he jerkily begun loading his crossbow. A greybeard with an axe threw his chair at me and I reflexively ducked. The sound of it getting splintered on the wall was drowned by the clang of steel meeting steel. An arrow missed my left ear by an inch, as I was getting up and I hadn't even tried to dodge.

 _Don't think. Just fight._

I ordered myself and raised my sword to dive into the fight. The Bolton archer and crossbowman had taken cover behind their upturned table and were now firing at us in a vain attempt to hold us back. The rest of them were already engaged in battle with our men, taking a brave stand, considering they were outnumbered three to one.

I thrust Longclaw under a man's armpit just as he raised his sword to strike me and then immediately parried to the right, barely avoiding an axe coming straight for my head. I turned around, where the axe had come from, only to find the man who foolishly threw it, meeting his end at the end of spear of a young wildling named Keyth.

A bald bearded man charged at me, shouting obscenities. I blocked his sword with mine and took a step to the left, using his momentum to make him lose his balance. Just as he fell, an arrow meant for me took him between the ribs, puncturing a lung. The crossbow bolt came at the exact same moment and time seemed to slow down, as I watched it pierce through my new cloak, instead of my torso, ripping a hole at it.

The next thing I knew, I had reached the round oaken table and cut it to pieces as if it were kindling. I was face-to-face with the two crouching men behind it now. The archer dropped his bow and drew a dirk from his boot, but he was too slow. My blade sank in his chest almost to the hilt, cutting through the steel and leather of his armor like butter. I didn't wait to see him fall down. I turned around instead, towards the boy with the pimples and the half-loaded crossbow.

 _Make him pay._

A voice demanded in my head and I kicked the crossbow out of his hands, breaking half the fingers of his left hand with my boot and making him scream.

"Please milord. Please… Don't kill me milord… I yield! Please!"

He cried pathetically as he crawled away from me. I followed him with slow, measured steps, scraping the flagstones with the tip of my bloody sword. His crawling came to an abrupt halt the moment his back hit a corpse. There was pure terror in his eyes now, the kind I'd only seen in the eyes of prey through Ghost, just before we were ready to deliver the finishing blow.

"Hey! Snow! The lad yielded. And you said you needed one of those cunts alive."

Morgan shouted from somewhere behind me as I raised Longclaw to his neck.

 _Kill him._

A voice inside my head insisted, shaking me to my core.

 _The man I was before wouldn't have gone into a murderous spree over a torn cloak._

I realized in shame and disgust, lowering my sword. I took a look around me then, noticing the dead and dying men on the floor. Most of them belonged to the enemy, but five of them were Stark men; all of them dead by arrows or crossbow bolts. There was no enemy standing though, except from the one currently groveling at my feet, begging for his life.

I raised my sword once more towards him, but instead of striking him, I merely wiped the blade on his clothes and then sheathed it back in its scabbard.

"It seems like you'll keep your life for now. I have work for you."

I told him soberly, shutting out my guilt and my shame. I'd have time enough to sulk over those during our long ride back to the main camp.

"Thank you milord! Whatever you want milord. I'm−"

"You! Are there any horses in your stables?"

I asked the old man still hiding behind the bar, interrupting the pimpled soldier at my feet. The innkeep was bald, with a hunched back and clothes that had certainly seen better days, much like the man himself.

"A-Aye milord. Ten and three of them, one for each of them dead soldiers. And my own plow-horse, but she's old and scrawny. Unfit for a warrior like yourself."

The innkeep informed me fidgetly as he watched Morgan deliver the finishing blow to a Bolton soldier trying to put his spilled guts back inside his open belly.

 _Old and scrawny… with such a mount, he won't be able to run away, or go elsewhere. Winterfell is the closest to here… his only option._

I thought to myself, bringing the North's map in my mind.

"How much for her?"

I asked the innkeep, as I took a look around the room, trying to assess the damage we did to the place. When I got no reply, I turned to the old man, certain he had not heard me, since he offered no reply. He had gone white as a corpse, as if I'd just told him we'd torch this place with him in upon leaving.

He looked at me. Then he shot a quick, fearful look at the dark corner I'd been staring at just a moment ago and immediately lowered his head towards the floor.

"Please milord… Milly… my daughter… she's no whore milord. She was an honest woman, until them Boltons soiled her and killed her poor Ronnie for speaking up…"

The old man mumbled in a trembling voice. I did not understand what he was saying, not until I looked closer and found the woman the soldier had been fucking, crying silently under a table, with her hands covering her naked bossom.

 _He thought I wanted to buy his daughter's services._

I realized, disgusted by the mere thought.

"My good man, I only meant to hear a price for your horse, but here, take this, for the damage we caused here as well."

I told him with a softer tone, more sympathetic, passing him a golden dragon, which he stared at suspiciously.

"I give you my word, none of my men will lay a finger on your daughter."

I promised him, soberly. He abruptly raised his head to look at me, clearly dumbfounded. And then, a toothless smile appeared on his face, one of gratitude.

"Thank you milord. I'm glad to see the Starks back. They've always been good to us smallfolk; kept us safe."

I nodded at him without returning the smile. He bowed anyway and scrambled to the side door, probably the one adjacent to the stables.

"What d' you want us t' do with them corpses?"

Backstabbing Mo, a wildling with a dimpled chin and dirty-blond hair asked me while taking off the boots from one of them.

"You know what to do."

I simply answered, knowing he'd take them out and burn them after stripping them of their valuables. They all got to work, so I walked back towards the pimpled man. Morgan Liddle was already there staring down on him with an intimidating smile on his face.

"Get up. You're to ride back to Winterfell."

I announced to the soldier currently cradling his mangled hand to his chest.

 _He's a craven, but he won't be able to run away anyway. It's either Winterfell or death in the snow for him._

I thought to myself as the man got up, murmuring "Aye milord" and "Anything milord" half a dozen times under his breath.

It was dark in the stables, but it smelled and looked clean; at least as clean as a stable could. Only two of the stalls were empty. The rest were occupied by the black and brown destriers of the Boltons.

"Here milord. Old Dots here's all ready."

The innkeep told me, offering me her reins. She was indeed old and scrawny and obviously the name was not in vain; her white coat was full of small brown dots, the size of silver stags. She was more than perfect for the job I had in mind.

I turned to the other horses then, all of them bred and trained for war, not for plowing and carrying a cart full of potatoes…

"How much for the other horses?"

I asked the old man, pulling a hefty amount of stags from the pocket of my jerkin.

"I… milord… they're yours. I don't want any money."

The old innkeep mumbled humbly, but I pressed the coins in his palm anyway, only for him to shake his head in denial and give them back.

"No true Northman would have taken your coin milord… not when you're fighting to free us from them accursed Boltons' rule."

He explained, squeezing my hand inside his own spotted ones, before walking back into the tavern. I shook my head to snap out of it and turned to Morgan at the entrance of the stables.

"You heard the man. Round the horses. We're taking them with us."

I ordered him, turning back to the lanky crossbowman with the pimples, cowering by the plow-horse.

"I have a message for you to deliver to Ramsay Bolton."

I told him as I walked into his personal space. I saw him gulp and nod once in compliance.

"Tell him the wolves are coming for him."

I told him icily, the threat sounding more like a promise. His eyes widened and he seemed to cower back, but I followed him, leaning in further, until my mouth was right next to his ear.

"Tell him winter is here."


	16. Chapter 16

**Reek**

It was cold in the kennels. Colder than I remembered. The weak light of the winter sun streamed through the iron bars of the door, casting my shadow twenty feet long across the flagstones, and for just that moment, it looked like shadow of the man I used to be.

 _Not him. I'm not him. I'm Reek; Lord Ramsay's creature._

The reminder was just a reflex by now. I remembered all too well.

 _How could I possibly forget?_

I wondered, feeling the sharp throb of the missing ring finger of my right hand. If the gods were good, this time the wound would fester and turn black with rot.

The dogs were barking like mad, I realized, slamming their muzzles on the bars, teeth bared. I stilled. The last time they had barked at me like that, Kyra had almost chewed off half my calf. Since I started sleeping with them though, they warmed up to me. But now I no longer carried their scent. Now I was a stranger. Now I was food.

I swallowed down the sense of dread and pushed forward, towards the cells in the back, where the girl would be.

 _Beth, her name is Beth, rhymes with death._

I thought the moment I saw her sprawled lifelessly on the floor. She was wearing some filthy rags that used to be a dress in another life and her red hair was matted and greasy on her scalp, with flakes of dried blood clinging to it. She lay so still, one would have thought she had died during the night.

I could see her chest move softly with each breath she took though, her sleep obviously undisturbed by the mad barking of the bastard's bitches. I hesitated, with the key an inch away from the keyhole, remembering what it felt like to never be able to find a moment of rest… what it felt like to be woken by the kiss of a blade or the caress of the whip, or… something worse.

The dogs' barking slowly came to a halt, but there was something else, a murmuring of sorts, some kind of quiet rambling coming from further back.

Suddenly the girl bolted awake, as if she had been struck. Her brown eyes opened for the briefest of moments, only for her to shut them tighter, putting her hands over her ears.

"Shut up!"

She shouted coarsely, sounding like a mad woman.

"−bloody sword…my Brandon… stole… bones… dogs… I will… pay…"

 _"At this rate, she'll go mad before the moon is full. Am I right Skinner?"_

I remembered Sour Allyn say in jest, as the rest of the bastard's boys erupted in laughter. I thought it was Beth they were talking about, but now… now I knew I had been wrong.

For a moment I contemplated walking over to her pen to confirm my suspicions for myself, but I had orders. Lord Ramsay had entrusted me to have the girl ready for him by dusk and I could not fail him.

The clank the lock made as it slid open echoed inside the long corridor, startling the girl.

"His lordship has need of you."

I told her, looking at the straws on the floor instead of her face.

"No, no, no…"

She whispered, curling in on herself.

"Please no! I- I can't! I can't do it!"

"You can and you will. You just have to do what Lord Ramsay says… then everything will be all right. Come now."

I offered her my left hand to help her get up, yet she made no move to take it, pressing her back to the cold stone behind her.

"No it won't! He hurts me worse when I do as he says."

Beth sobbed, looking straight to my face through the tears.

"That… that is a lie."

I replied, my throat dry as sand. The murmurs coming off the back of the room got louder.

"You just need to know his lordship better. When you start being good and you remember your name, you'll see… he- he is a kindly man and sweet."

The stub on my right hand, where my ring finger was just two nights ago, gave a sharp stab, making my eyes water.

His pale, cruel eyes flashed before me and his words echoed in my mind, sharper than knives.

 _"Have you no respect Reek? A lowly stinking creature like you calling my good-brother, our late King, your_ own _brother in my face... you know I cannot let such an affront go unpunished."_

He took a finger then for forgetting my name and something else for thinking of taking his Reek away from him.

But I had deserved all that and more.

"I- I remember my name. I'm his wife. His sweet Sansa. I am. I truly am."

Beth Cassel insisted with tears in her eyes. Brown eyes…

 _The real Sansa had blue eyes; Tully blue._

"Then you have naught to fear my Lady. Come."

I told her softly, kindly, as I kneeled before her, offering my hand once more. Her haunted eyes travelled from my missing fingers to my eyes. I was too slow.

"It's you!"

She hissed in shock, eyes wide in disbelief. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on the filthy floor.

"But how? You died. The Turncloak died screaming in the flames during the sack. They all said so…"

"Y-you are mistaken my Lady. I am not that other man. My name is Reek…"

 _…rhymes with weak._

It was an automatic reply. The same I gave to the real Sansa; the one who had eyes as blue as the Trident. The same I gave to the ghost of Robb in the dungeons.

"You think I would ever forget the eyes of the man who brought death and destruction to my house Theon Greyjoy?"

Her voice was brittle and raspy, but full of hate and resentment all the same.

The image of Ser Rodrik's hand falling to the ground like a piece of meat flashed before my eyes. It had been Lord Ramsay's blade that struck him down. But in truth, it had been Theon Greyjoy's arrogance and foolishness that killed him. And Beth… sweet, shy Beth had been carried off to the Dreadfort after the sack of Winterfell. And Reek knew what befell the women in those dungeons.

"I am Reek, not that other man. And you my Lady need to be in Lord Ramsay's chambers, squeaky clean and ready for him by dusk."

"Don't touch me!"

She hissed at me the moment I made to grab her forearm. I took a step back and then another, wondering whether I should call someone else to make her comply. I could not risk Lord Ramsay's wrath.

But then she got up on her own, on shaky feet, holding the uneven stone wall behind her with her hand. Four fingers, instead of five.

I got out of the small pen, keys in hand, waiting for her beside the iron door. From the shortening streaks of sunlight on the dirty floor, I knew time was running out.

I fumbled with the keys, my fingers stiff; clumsy.

When the lock slid into place Beth Cassel had already reached the iron door leading outside. The setting sun outside had set her hair aflame, but when she turned back to face me, her face was covered in darkness and shadows.

"I hate you Theon Greyjoy."

She said, stopping me in my tracks.

"I wish you had never been born."

The words resonated inside me, more poignant than I would have imagined.

Maybe because I wished it too.

* * *

It had snowed again during the night. The feet of the soldiers and the servants had already turned the snow on the ground to a muddy brown color, but the rooftops were still covered in a pristine layer of white so bright, it hurt my eyes to watch.

From afar, it was easy to miss the scorch marks on the grey stone.

"Ugh! Fondle them aye… like that…"

A man grunted from one of the tents near the burnt down Sept.

I kept on walking.

Those sorts of things were a common occurrence these days, with all those whores that turned up in Winterfell a few days ago, drawn to the army like crows to a fresh carcass.

Of course, to keep up appearances, Lord Ramsay let them take residence in the castle under the pretext of working as the household staff. More oft than not though, you'd find them pinned against a wall, with a soldier rutting between their thighs.

I pulled the tattered cloak closer to my chest and drowned out the obscene sounds coming from behind me.

 _Ned Stark must be turning in his grave._

I thought with a shake of the head for the hundredth time this week, as I finally pushed at the rough, unpolished wood of the new oaken doors of the Great Hall of Winterfell.

The sheer amount of people seated on the tables took me by surprise. I hadn't seen so many people in there since the King's vi−

 _Stop it! The person who sat n the table just below the King was Theon Greyjoy. He had ten fingers and toes and he was the best archer in all of Winterfell. I have another name now. It's Reek, rhymes with leek._

I took a peek towards the high table, fearful he had seen me slip.

He was right where I knew he'd be, seated on the Lord's seat, stuffing his mouth with pigeon-pie, while motioning to one of the serving-wenches for more wine. To his right sat a pale-faced Cregan Karstark and to his left, Ronnel Dustin, who had been a Stout up until _very_ recently.

I counted the days in my head. Seven days. Seven days had passed since Lady Barbrey's imprisonment. It was probably a fortnight though, since the Stouts decided to betray her to the bastard of Bolton at the promise of the Dustin ancestral home and name.

And then I saw who just walked over to the dais, to sit to the empty seat beside Ronnel…

It was Old Rodrik Ryswell himself along with his three sons, Rickard, Roger and Roose.

That other man had drank with them and theirs many and more times in his youth during feasts, but I… I surely was not him. How could I be when I couldn't even tell them apart?

One of the new serving-wenches, a short girl with dark straight hair and an ample bossom walked over to them with a carafe in hand, serving them hot spiced wine. As she walked away, she stopped and whispered something to one of the Ryswell sons' ear, pressing her breasts to his back and sliding her hand down his chest, probably to fondle his manhood under the table.

The man turned to her and made to grab her hand, but she danced away with a teasing smile disappearing in the crowd. His face darkened though and the more he searched for her below, the more his bushy eyebrows furrowed; the food and drink before him forgotten.

The rest of the Ryswells though had already drained their cups and were reaching for the food in the plates before them.

 _How can they be sitting there so calmly? Have they not heard what befell their beloved Barbrey at the hands of the bastard of Bolton?_

I wondered, with a sense of foreboding as I watched Lord Ramsay bid them welcome with a wide smile.

This situation was not one to smile about though. Not after what Lord Ramsay did to their kin with the help of the Stouts. And Lord Ramsay may have been the one to lock Barbrey Dustin in the kennels and strip the skin off her flesh for his amusement, but the Stouts… they were the ones who turned their cloaks.

When Lord Ramsay had the Barrowton retinue killed and Lady Barbrey imprisoned, I had expected for the Dustin cavalry to ride north and join their forces to Jon Snow's. Instead, I watched them ride through Winterfell's gates, just moments after Damon Dance-for-me tossed their Lady inside a pen in the kennels like some dog and locked the door behind him.

Those most loyal to Lady Dustin had been slaughtered without mercy in their sleep that same night and the rest… the rest cared more for their lives than they did for that of Lady Barbrey's.

"Out of the way Turncloak."

A man sneered in place of an apology, as he slammed his shoulder on mine on his way out. Pain bloomed in my left side, making it hard to breathe. The sharpness of it brought me back to reality though. I had been standing there, gawking at the high table for far too long.

 _Move before he sees._

I put my head down and hurried to my place behind him, doing my best to blend with the background, yet I could feel a pair of eyes following me. I could only pray those eyes were not Lord Ramsay's…

"−feeling out of sorts today."

Lord Ramsay said in reply to something one of the Ryswells had probably asked. There was a pause then, stretching seemingly endlessly before one of the Ryswell sons broke it; the one the serving-wench had fondled under the table.

"Then whatever ails my sister, sure did a number on many of her men as well. Daryn Flint, Jolly Jon and Ben Snow aren't here either."

A shiver ran down my spine at the tone of his voice, yet I did not dare look up. Silence fell in the table like a dark ominous cloud.

"You must have been very lucky Ronnel, to be sitting here with us today."

He continued with enough disdain to contest the one Lady Stark held for her husband's bastard. The new lord of Dustin's face curdled like sour milk and his knife almost slipped from his hand, while the rest of the Ryswells scanned the tables below with sudden urgency.

"Are you implying something ser? Because I don't like your tone. Not one bit."

Ronnel Dustin replied, letting down his knife carefully.

"Would you like the taste of my steel better – ser?"

The other man replied, as he unsheathed his knife in a swift move, weighting it in his hand for the briefest of moments before slashing at the other man's chest. The blood formed a crimson arc in the air as a high pitched shriek filled the room.

Chaos ensued.

On the high table everyone was shouting at each other with knives in hand. Lord Ramsay was circling the shortest of the Ryswell brothers with a glint in his eye, while shouting over his shoulder for the guards.

Cregan Karstark on the other hand had gone to hiding under the table, holding a silver platter close to his chest for protection, while Whoresbane had Rodrik's armed hand in a vice-grip, grunting at him words I could not understand amidst the tumult.

I shrunk against the wall, staring at the fight with wide eyes. The uproar had spread below, to the men at arms and soldiers who had been eating amicably beside each other only moments ago. They now had dirks and knives at hand, while others held plates before them for protection against the blows.

"Please Rickard! I did nothing. I swear it! I do! It was him!"

Cregan Karstark cried out as a heaving Rickard Ryswell dragged him from under the table.

Lord Ramsay's chair crashed on the floor with a bang and then he was on the high table, along with the tallest Ryswell brother, both of them knocking over plates full of food as they slashed at each other with their blades.

"Where is my sister bastard? What have you done to her?"

The man shouted when he drew the first blood from Lord Ramsay's forearm. The bastard's eyes widened in surprise and I expected him to slash at his opponent savagely in retaliation, but he raised his hands in surrender instead, holding the knife flat against his palm.

"Roose please listen to me! I don't know what you're talking about! There is no need to fight. Let us talk about this reasonably."

Lord Ramsay pleaded, as he sunk to his knees, about to let his knife on the table. Roose Ryswell let his guard down for just a heartbeat, yet it was enough for the bastard of Bolton to throw a bowl of steaming soup on his face. Then the youngest of the Ryswells was lying on his back on the table, with Lord Ramsay on top of him. I could see the bastard's lips move, but no words could be heard above the other man's piercing scream.

And then the third brother was in front of me. The one who started it all; Roger. There was blood splattered on his face and murder in his eyes. Had I still been a man, I would have drawn my sword and faced him head on. I was no man though, so I caved in on myself further, becoming one with the stone behind me and put my head down, like Lord Ramsay had taught me.

"You! Take me to my sister!"

Roger Ryswell growled inches away from my face, pressing his bloody knife at the center of my stomach.

 _A stab to the stomach is an ugly way to go._

I thought, fear twisting my insides. I could feel my heart beating like mad, yet it was not death I dreaded; not even a slow and painful one. It was the possibility of saying something I was not supposed to. I could not slip up again. I had to be good. Else…

"I-I don't know w-what you m-mean."

"You better find out soon, else I'll make you rue the day you were born."

He threatened, dragging me away from the wall and towards the side-door the servants used to bring in the food.

Something snapped inside me at his words and laughter erupted from my chest, loud and breathless.

I had finally gone mad. There was no other explanation. Only a mad person would laugh at such a threat with a knife pressed to his skin.

A man's shout turned into a wet gurgle and Roger's step faltered. He turned back, towards the fight, but then another man shouted at him to go. To find Barb. He hesitated for a moment, and then he pulled us towards the door, closing it behind us.

The clamor of the fight became a quiet buzz now that we were outside in the cold, but there were other sounds coming from beyond the inner gate. Amidst the silence the ring of chainmail could be heard, along with the stomp a pair of boots made as a person ran on the iced-over cobblestones.

"What are you? The bastard's halfwit jester?"

Roger spat at me, as he started dragging me towards the small burnt down Sept. It was supposed to be an insult, but insults were lost on the prideless.

"Stop sniggering you bloody fool and start talking! Where is Barb?"

He demanded with his hand at the collar of my shirt, shaking me. The laughter died in my throat and I cringed away from him, averting my eyes from his raging ones. He looked crazed… but not as crazed as Lord Ramsay whenever his blood got up.

 _I must keep my mouth shut. I am loyal. His loyal Reek. I will be good._

But I did not know how to be good.

Lord Ramsay always made it hard to know what would please him. If I spoke the truth to Roger Ryswell, I would be betraying his lordship's trust. But staying silent could be equally bad. If I stayed silent, Roger would use his blade to make me talk and Lord Ramsay would not like that. Not one bit. I was _his_ toy. His Reek.

 _Lie._

"I don't know my Lord. Please! I swear I don't!"

I cried, as we weaved through the tents. I sounded pathetic and weak even in my own ears.

"She said you're the bastard's shadow; that you know where Barb is, so lie to me again and I'll skewer you like a pig."

He hissed, poking me with the blade just beneath my clavicle. Tears were falling freely from my eyes tracing fiery paths on my frozen cheeks.

 _Lie better, else…_

"T-the dungeons. She's in the d-dungeons. P-please my lord, I−"

"Take me there!"

Roger Ryswell growled, rattling my whole frame with the way he shook my arm. More tears spilled from my eyes, landing on the snow beneath us and I could see his face again, painted in urgency and violence.

I nodded frantically and started walking on trembling feet, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"How many guards are posted there?"

He asked, as he dragged me towards the Great Keep.

"Just two. Kemp and Gayle. And they were both passed out drunk when I left at dawn."

"And how many prisoners?"

"Just the one."

I replied truthfully.

 _Just not the one you are expecting._

I saw him nod with the corner of my eye and his eyebrows scrunch in contemplation.

"Where do they keep the key to the cell?"

He continued after a brief pause, picking up his pace.

 _Careful now. Very careful._

"It's… I have it."

I admitted after taking a deep steadying breath, lifting the cord to show it to him.

"I stole it today from Gayle's keychain."

I continued, saying the words I had repeated a thousand times over to myself in my damp dark cell.

The furrow between Roger Ryswell's bushy eyebrows deepened. Distrust was practically reeking out of him, but I knew my lines well. As well as my name.

"I had a plan. To help hi-her escape tonight, during the hour of the wolf. I've been working on it for we−"

"What kind of plan?"

He demanded in a gruff voice, suddenly pulling me towards an alcove in the wall of the Great Keep.

I heard it then. The sound of countless iron boots running on the flagstones, getting closer.

Roger Ryswell kept us hidden in the narrow space, where no soldier would spot us with his face was inches away from mine, grim and threatening and his knife was pressed between my ribs.

I'd be dead before I got a chance to open my mouth for help.

Only when the sound of footsteps faded away did Roger continue towards the dungeon, his question about the rescue plan blessedly forgotten.

Not that it would have mattered whether I told him or not. By the time we got to the dungeons it would be too late for him to save anyone. Even himself.

Fat snowflakes started to fall from the overcast sky. I could see them land on my face softly, daintily, yet my skin was too numb to feel their touch. The only thing I could feel was the burn of my tears. In the North they say that the cold can burn as hot as fire. It had sounded like a foolish thing to say, all those years ago, but now I knew it to be true. My tears had turned to frost on my cheeks, yet they burned like wildfire.

We reached to door to the dungeons the moment someone was opening it from the inside. I froze in place and Roger stiffened behind me, his fingers digging painfully in my arm. They slackened though when he saw it was just a girl.

It was one of the whores, I realized, the one whose hair was so back, it blended with the scorch marks on the wall. She seemed as startled by our presence, almost as much as we were from hers.

After a moment's hesitation, she hastily bowed in courtesy, lifting her skirts to reveal her brown sturdy boots underneath. The Ryswell just pushed me towards the door, as if she was not even there in the first place.

"Are you looking for some fun milord? Ly-sa and Jocy are busy with the boys downstairs, but I could show you a good time if you like."

The woman said, sounding almost desperate. If I didn't know any better I'd swear I was able to feel Roger's scowl in the air.

"I'm not interested."

He told the whore, dismissing her with an impatient gesture of his hand.

"Are you sure milord? For one as pretty and sweet smelling as you, it'll be for free."

She insisted, this time more seductively, running her hand from his chest all the way down to his groin, like the other girl had done when she came to serve him at the table. I could hardly believe that had happened less than half an hour ago. It felt like it had been days…

"I don't have time for that. Now move it woman."

Roger Ryswell snapped, shoving her aside, away from the entrance and towards the castle.

I had only managed to take one step inside when a wet thud came from behind me. When I turned back to see what was happening, Roger Ryswell's knife was clattering to the floor and he was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his face ashen as a corpse's.

The cold glint of steel in the whore's hand had me running down the steps in panic.

 _Crazy. She's crazy._

I stumbled once, twice, my maimed feet refusing to work properly. I could hear them fight behind me, but I knew one of them would be coming after me through that door soon enough.

 _All I have to do is reach my cell. Once I put the heavy iron bars between us they will no longer be able to touch me._

"Oh, come on!"

A woman snapped in frustration from somewhere deeper in the dungeon, almost making me stop dead in my tracks.

"Give them to me."

Another one snapped and soft metal chimes filled the space, sounding like the rattle of keys.

"What? You think the right one will magically appear in your hands Jory?"

The first woman scoffed as I was about to reach the end of the stairwell.

 _Jory… that was not her name was it?_

I wondered, clearly remembering the whore upstairs calling her Jocy just moments ago.

I did not like this; not one bit, yet I was trapped. I had nowhere else to go. A soft murmur came then, too low for me to really understand. That was when I tripped for the third time.

Deathly silence followed. The only thing I could hear was my own heart, beating like mad in my chest.

I pushed forward with bated breath, knowing my cell door was just a few feet away.

At the end of the stairwell though, I was greeted by another whore; the tall, lanky one whose hair was constantly a brown tangle. She went by the name Lysa, I remembered, but I was pretty sure now that it was not her real name.

I had taken another name as well once… Lord Ramsay gave it to me to take the Moat for him. He had given me chicken to eat that night… and all the wine I could drink.

And I was sure the whore whose name was not Lysa had come in Winterfell with a secret mission of her own. Not to take the castle, but to steal the Lord of the castle instead. The true Lord. The Stark of Winterfell.

In the light of the torch I could clearly see the morningstar in her hands; dark and terrible, dripping blood and brains on the stone floor.

"You… what are you doing here?"

Lysa the whore whispered, taking a defensive stance, while checking the stairwell behind me.

"Where is Ada? What did you do to her Turncloak?"

She demanded when she realized we were alone, her fingers digging in my arm painfully. They were thick and callused and strong… like a soldier's.

"R-oger, Roger Ryswell and the girl are outside."

 _Killing each other._

Her eyes widened at my words and a curse escaped her lips.

I could hardly believe my luck when she turned around and ran up the stairs. Before I had the chance to take two steps though, another figure emerged from the shadows. It was yet another girl. The one who spoke to Roger. The one who started it all.

She was too short and fleshy to appear dangerous, but the sword in her hand told another story.

The moment she saw me, her dark eyebrows fixed in a frown, just like her lips.

"You were supposed to go to the kennels."

The new girl accused me.

"Why are you here?"

She asked ominously, taking a step forward. She was close. Too close.

"I came here to help you."

"Help us? Like you helped the Young Wolf Turncloak?"

She sneered, now standing directly above me with her sword pointing at me.

"No! I−"

"You promised your help to Robb Stark too. Two hundred ships you said. And an alliance with the Iron Islands. Instead of that, you brought only betrayal and death."

My fingers clenched into fists, nails scrapping against the cold stone.

 _She's not supposed to know about that. She wasn't there. She is just a whore…_

"And the North remembers."

Jory the whore concluded, her face turning into a cold mask.

"In the name of the Rickon Stark −"

"There's no time for that!"

Lysa shouted breathlessly from the stairs, stilling the other girl's hand before she had a chance to continue. I did not know when I had stopped breathing, but the moment she lowered her sword, blessed air filled my lungs once again.

"We have to take the boy and run! They are coming here with prisoners and Ada can't stall them for long!"

She urged frantically, pushing her tangled hair away from her reddened face.

"Oh bloody hells, the key…"

Lysa muttered, appearing as if she was about to tear the hair from her skull in despair.

"Where is the−"

The other whore snapped at me, stopping midsentence.

"I'll be damned… he has it."

She said, eyeing the key still resting atop my tunic. One forceful yank was all it took for the cord to snap and the key to end up in her fist.

Still I clutched at the place it used to be with trembling hands and bated breath, not knowing what Lord Ramsay would want me to do now that nothing was going as planned.

 _Every misstep will be a finger he'll have to take._

I thought, searching my mind for an answer. The hard glare full of threats the whore gave me as she emerged from the back with the boy beside her brought me back to the present.

"You'll be coming with us Turncloak."

The whore sneered, curling her lip in disgust when she said that name.

"But if you try anything funny we'll kill you. Do you understand?"

The other one added, but I was already nodding frantically in compliance.

Little Rickon called my name then with a small, hesitant smile on his pale face. It was too painful to look at him. I'd rather he'd called me Turncloak and looked at me like Beth had. It would have been easier…

That night, Lord Ramsay had been very clear. I was to lead Jon Snow and the boy to Hunter's Gate and then inside the Wolfswood. He said the guards would let us pass undisturbed. And when the sun rose…

 _I'll have Kyra lead the hunt Reek. For old time's sake._

I was supposed to stick with the plan, but everything about the plan had gone askew already. It was early morning instead of deep night, there was a revolt in the Great Hall of Winterfell, and it was not Jon Snow who came for the boy, but a couple of girls pretending to be whores.

And Rickon… he shouldn't have smiled like that. Like Robb had smiled at Theon Greyjoy the day they parted.

 _No, my name is… it's…_

The sight of Roger Ryswell sitting with his back against the grey stone wall beside entrance had me pause. The snow around him had turned a deep, ruby red, but he was still alive, his short uneven breaths misting in the air before him.

"Don't look."

Lysa told little Rickon, pulling the boy's head close to her skirts.

"I'm almost a man grown. I've seen dying men before. Women too."

The boy replied willfully, pulling away from her grasp.

"As you say my Lord."

"Barb. I need to…"

Roger whispered weakly as we passed before him, his hand reaching towards us like broken bird's wing, yet none of the women spared him a glance.

There was no time for that. I could hear footsteps approaching and the rattle of chainmail.

I turned around just in time to watch the Bolton men march under the bridge between the armory and the Great Keep.

Both girls cursed in unison.

A strong hand coiled around my arm, dragging me forward in a speed I could not hope to match. Not anymore.

"You there! Stop!"

Shouted one of the soldiers as we ran to the East Gate. I tripped again and again and my stumps ached horribly, but I kept on running.

 _Madness… this is madness._

I thought, as the girls attacked the guards posted on the inner gate. The Bolton soldiers were on our heels and I was frozen in place. There was nowhere to go and the guards of the outer gate were raising the drawbridge.

"Theon!"

The boy that wasn't Robb shouted, grasping my hand in his own and pulling me towards the exit.

When I turned back, I saw the soldiers; seconds away from us and the two whores, hacking at their opponents as if they were possessed. And then I picked up the boy and ran to the drawbridge.

The chains had been frozen and the wood too heavy for the two men to lift in time. The gap was small enough to pass still. I could make it, even with the boy. I knew I could. But then…

 _Then I die honorably, like a Stark. For a Stark._

I thought as I made the leap to the other side. Amidst the cacophony of the battle, I never heard the soft whiz of the arrows. Only felt the force of them as they pierced the flesh through and through and then the agony, as the boy and I rolled on the wooden bridge and crashed to the ground on the other side.

The boy was still in my arms, safe though. That was all that mattered.

"Get up Theon!"

Rickon shouted at me in a broken voice, dragging me by the arm towards the now unguarded exit. I put one hand on the ground and then the other, pushing, but I was not strong enough and my legs… they wouldn't work.

"Please Theon! Get up!"

The boy cried, his blue eyes filled with tears and terror and desperation. Pain washed over me like a tidal wave and the cold took my breath away.

 _Drowning. I'm drowning._

I thought, coughing, fighting for breath.

 _"Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were. Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel."_

A voice whispered, words I have heard before, in another lifetime.

I could already taste the salt of the Drowned God's watery halls on my lips.

 _What is dead may never die._

I remembered as the dark, freezing waters engulfed me.

Instead of the crashing waves, the last thing I heard was Robb, calling out my name.


End file.
